The Remotest Star
by GalwayGirl2
Summary: The Second Wizarding War is bearing down on Britain and those in its path need to choose a side. For Theodore Nott, son of a Death Eater and best friend to defector Draco Malfoy, it's not as uncomplicated as that. And nothing is ever simple when Luna Lovegood is involved... ...But there's no place for relationships in a war. It's just a weakness the enemy could use against you.
1. Prologue

**A/N: I'm baaaack! Welcome to Part 2, the follow-up to Faith in Broken Halos. If you haven't read FIBH you may feel a bit discombobulated by this story since although it will focus on Luna and Theo during their year at Hogwarts, there will be a healthy amount of Dramione weaved in. I hope you take a moment and read the Emily Dickinson poem that reminded me so much of Luna that I had to pull the title and essence of it for my story. **

* * *

**The Remotest Star**

_Inspired by Emily Dickinson's poem, 'The Moon was but a Chin of Gold'_

The Moon was but a Chin of Gold

A Night or two ago—

And now she turns Her perfect Face

Upon the World below—

Her Forehead is of Amplest Blonde—

Her Cheek—a Beryl hewn—

Her Eye unto the Summer Dew

The likest I have known—

Her Lips of Amber never part—

But what must be the smile

Upon Her Friend she could confer

Were such Her Silver Will—

And what a privilege to be

But the remotest Star—

For Certainty She take Her Way

Beside Your Palace Door—

Her Bonnet is the Firmament—

The Universe—Her Shoe—

The Stars—the Trinkets at Her Belt—

Her Dimities—of Blue—

**Prologue**

_-10 weeks later, after 'Portus'_

_24 hours after Dumbledore's Death-_

Hermione slowly placed the quill next to the open journal, aligning it perfectly parallel with the book's edge. She heard the frantic pacing of Draco behind her. His breaths escaped him on angry puffs of air and so she afforded him his space, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the emotion overflowed.

His feet halted and Hermione turned in the chair, stiff and resolute. The action was enough to darken Draco's eyes to granite. Two immovable forces colliding over the inevitable- her friend's need of her. She gently tried to explain it.

"Harry needs me. That man, no matter how you viewed him, was one of the only constant, nurturing adults in Harry's life. He's going to be devastated. And unstable...and likely prone to stupid decisions."

Draco scowled at her, unconvinced. "Is that a shared Gryffindor trait, then?" His arms twitched, the left's movement more pronounced, more agitated, and Hermione's eyes drifted to it briefly. Instead of rising to his bait, Hermione softened under it, finding his words a rough caress of worry.

He never was very good at the feelings.

She answered, "Not by me. It won't be a stupid decision because I will be prepared." Draco turned his head, his eyes studious on one of the walls in the very tiny room they shared, effectively shutting out Hermione's reassurances which would _not bloody do. _Shooting up from the chair, Hermione stomped over to him and took his face in her hands. A clammy sweat coated her fingers but she refused to let go, to let him dig in irrational heels over the smallest little hurdle of their relationship yet, when there were much bigger hurdles still to come.

She popped up on her toes and placed her lips to his, breathing the plea into his mouth, making him taste her desperation. "Draco, listen to me. Nothing is going to happen. I will stay safe. I will come back."

He shuddered against her. Hermione felt his arms wrap around her back, clenching tightly, yet even through Draco's fierce grip she could feel the start of tremors work through his left arm.

Futile anguish climbed her throat. She gripped him back to give herself a moment to swallow back the tears and they burned her throat, burned her clear through until Hermione felt a renewed sense of direction.

Beyond Harry's grief. Past Dumbledore's death, to absolute survival.

Above it all, she needed Draco to survive.

With her emotions reined in, Hermione pulled back from Draco. He was shaking, teeth clenched, and the exposed mark started to pulse like a beacon of death. She pushed him toward the lone bed in the room and he collapsed onto the mattress, eyes already starting to roll back into his head. Hermione fumbled for the iPod in the desk; she then gently placed the earbuds in his ears and cranked up the volume as the playlist began.

The music soothed Draco slightly as his breathing turned to shallow little exhales. By now, his lips would mouth the lyrics. Hermione slumped down on the bed and watched worryingly when his hands curled to fists, highlighting the rippling black tattoo and the angry red scar cutting through the skull.

10 weeks since they left, countless times Voldemort has tried to torture Draco back into visibility, and it never got any easier to watch him suffer.

Hermione placed her palms against his pulse points so that he would know she was there, know that she's on the other side of his pain.

"I will stay safe. I will come back," she repeated fervently, "And I'll have an answer."

* * *

**A/N: Just another note- the posting schedule for this will be slow to start. I am currently drafting chapter 3 and prefer to have a cushion of at least 5 chapters before posting; this will be more realistic once school is out in June but I couldn't resist jumping in! Please be patient while I work with these two new perspectives! **


	2. A Catalyst

**A Catalyst**

* * *

-_fragment of a journal entry_

_I am as shocked as you probably are, truly. We assumed that defection left the task impossible to fulfill… and as awful as this sounds, remember that Dumbledore was never the symbol for the Light, Luna. It remains to be Harry. Remind people of that. I worry for him. Tell him I'm coming back for the funeral. Tell him I'm sorry. So, so sorry... _

The funeral service for the late Headmaster just ended. It was the most extraordinary summer's day, nearly too warm for the dress robes draped on Theo's figure. If it were any ordinary summer's day, he'd be soaking in the sun 500 feet in the air on his broomstick as he lobbed a quaffle back and forth with Draco. Or maybe he'd be stretched on the fragrant, heated grass near the Black Lake, glamouring his face outrageously until his friends were doubled over in laughter.

Instead, he had to sit through an extremely pompous service- and as a Pureblood, he intimately knew pompous- for a man that held little of Theo's regard when he was alive.

Dead… what good was regard, then?

Theo's attention moved away from the completely marble tomb… which wasn't pompous _at all_… and watched as the oddball Ravenclaw flitted from one group of students to another, whispering a few words or bending an ear, sometimes even placing a hand on a downcast set of shoulders. She moved like consolation, personified.

It made him sick.

Grief, true grief, sat bone-deep. It settled into the marrow and became a part of daily life, nigh undetectable… the hours would pass and the Earth would turn and for a moment the grief's forgotten about, until a scent or a memory or the echo of a long-lost voice would reignite the emotion until it was vibrating through your whole body.

True grief remained forever- there was no consoling it away.

By now, Loony had moved away from the crowded rows of seats and was cozy within a circle of students that included Potter, Weasel, and Weaselette, as well as a student Theo didn't recognize. She had unremarkable straw-colored hair, a middling figure, and the most familiar energy.

Theo's eyes narrowed. He politely murmured an 'excuse me' to Blaise, who thankfully struck up a conversation with Daphne, no-questions-asked.

A rarity, indeed, for the nosy git.

Reassured, Theo discreetly disillusioned himself then wound his way through the crowd until he was in earshot of the group.

"Harry, can you tell me what happened? I've been going mad where we're staying."

Although his voice was quiet, Scarhead's tone was cross.

"Why don't you ask Malfoy? I suspect it's why he ran."

_Ah. So it's Granger, polyjuiced. _Warm relief ran through Theo at the sight of her; most nights since they escaped nearly ten weeks ago, Theo agonized over if they were safe.

If it had all worked out.

If he amounted to more than just comic relief for once in his best mate's life.

Polyjuiced Granger sounded beleaguered when she sniped back.

"I ask Draco plenty. And _when_," she emphasized with deadly certainty, "you next see him, perhaps if you ask nicely _he _will tell you all the reasons for which he ran. But today, I'm asking you."

Her tone softened, prepared to cushion glass. To carry difficult truths.

"What happened, Harry?"

The boy exhaled and his ridiculous fringe fluttered. Theo wanted to insert a difficult truth and state that clearly the boy had never been introduced to a comb.

Potter started to talk under his breath, so Theo inched forward to catch the words.

"I was coming back from a trip with Dumbledore," he said miserably and Granger ran her hand up and down Potter's arm in an attempt to soothe. "When we apparated back on the grounds, we saw the Dark Mark over the Astronomy tower. Dumbledore was weak, but he transferred us up there."

Theo caught the faintest crinkle between Lovegood's eyebrows, a clear indication that a wildly inappropriate thought had risen up but she refrained as Harry continued, the story unraveling as he fell victim to his emotions.

"Before I knew it, he had me under the cloak and frozen. I couldn't do anything, even as Pansy Parkinson unveiled herself in the tower."

Granger gasped, covering Theo's own sharp intake of air. The news sliced painfully through his chest and all at once the day of mourning felt truly needed.

Pansy may not be his closest friend, she may not be real likable most of the time, but _no one_ deserved her fate.

Theo saved one just to doom another.

Potter continued so, for the moment, Theo stifled the self-hatred, knowing he had all summer to berate himself over the collateral damage of his own actions.

"She disarmed him," he admitted this disbelievingly, "and said that her task was to kill him. Dumbledore asked how that came to be," and at that Potter's eyes flicked accusingly up to Granger's blanched face.

Instinctively, Theo moved to shield Granger. He didn't care if Potter was the bloody chosen one; the arse was also bloody ignorant. Granger, though, held her ground.

"We've no time for me to justify every little thing, Harry. Not that I should even have to."

The tension between the two was crackling and fierce in its force such that Theo could have sworn it rippled his disillusionment charm.

Finally, Lovegood breached the silence. "Please continue, Harry."

The boy rolled his shoulders stiffly and then dropped his eyes away. Theo's anger flared at the hurt that flashed across Granger's face.

Potter started to mutter at this point, the agitation just under the surface, and his low tone forced Theo another meter closer. "Parkinson seemed to hesitate but finally answered loyalty was what brought her here. Dumbledore fucking frowned at her, like she needed pity or something!"

The words came out overloud and with the only functioning brain among them, Lovegood discreetly cast an overdue Muffliato that thankfully he was also encased in. Potter quirked a grateful, little ghost of a smile in Lovegood's direction.

Theo's hands fisted for no reason whatsoever. The git, however, seemed to be growing exhausted by the retelling because he rushed through the end.

"The Death Eaters showed up not long after. I recognized them from last summer," and he shared a quick look of significance with Weasel and Granger. "They kept goading Parkinson to just do it but she was literally shaking. Then Snape stepped forward."

Potter snarled and his whole audience straightened at the sudden vitriol.

"Dumbledore begged him, said please. And that bastard killed him."

Potter finally broke down.

And Theo choked on a miserable mix of relief and despair.

Relief that it wasn't Draco, that it didn't turn out to be Pansy.

Despair that it had to be Snape.

Lovegood flicked those maddeningly clear eyes up from Potter, who was now being consoled by the Weaselette, to Theo's disillusioned form.

A smile inexorably curved her lips.

"Hello, Theodore Nott," and the witch twirled her wand to break the disillusionment. Theo gaped at her utter nerve before rearranging his features into a neutral mask of indifference as the other four swiveled surprised stares.

He cleared his throat.

"Potter. Weaselette. Weasel. Granger."

The polyjuiced-girl gasped at his recognition and then she was moving away from Potter's side, away from her long-time friends to grasp Theo between shaking hands.

"You snake," Granger smiled through a sheen of tears. "How did you know?"

Lovegood barged into their reunion, having no grasp of social convention. She said quite solemnly, "You have very unique energy, Hermione," and Theo begged Salazar for mercy from this intuitive, crazy chit.

Exasperated, he only raised his eyebrows in Lovegood's direction before encircling Granger in a protective huddle.

"Tell me everything," he murmured as Granger relaxed minutely into the support of his arm. Theo could see the vexed faces of her friends but Lovegood had moved back to them, back to her natural state of pacifier, and for the moment Theo thankfully had Granger all to himself.

"I can't tell you everything," Granger said, snaring his attention. "But we're safe."

Theo remained silent but when Granger provided no additional information, he prodded. "How's Draco?"

She cleared her throat, eyes dancing everywhere except to Theo, before admitting, "He was furious I came. Thinks it's dangerous. He's also…"

She paused and dread unfurled in Theo, stiffening his muscles until Granger squeaked from his strong hold.

"He's struggling, Theo. It's been almost 10 weeks since we ran and occasionally, still, Voldemort tries to force him into the open by calling through the Dark Mark."

Granger choked on the admission and the dread filling every cell of Theo turned icy as the truth of the outside world was laid directly in his purview. He hadn't expected to avoid it forever- it wasn't long before he was back under the eye of his father, after all- but Theo hadn't prepared…

There was no quip to dissolve this tension, no inappropriate rejoinder to shoo this reality away.

Granger continued to ramble, undeterred by Theo's tense silence. Apparently he wasn't one to depend on for comfort. "I've pretty much spent the entirety of our time away researching a solution, however weak, to help ease the pain. I landed on runes actually. But the method is -" she slid an uncomfortable look to Theo and then asked abruptly, "Is Blaise around? I'd like his opinion."

Troubled, Theo held her a moment longer in hopes that she would divulge a little more. She didn't and he sighed. He released her and craned his head, finding Blaise easily as a lone, dark statue staring intensely in Theo's direction.

_Bloody nosy prat._

Nevertheless, he nodded toward Blaise and Granger unhesitatingly took off.

Theo turned back and found three lions attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to glare him into leaving. Never one to forego ruffling feathers, Theo approached them again although he chose to stop at Lovegood's side.

The dragon you know and all that.

"So, Weasel," Theo drawled, "I see you're missing your Lavender-shaped shadow. Trouble in paradise?"

Predictably the boy flushed. His jaw clicked in attempt to withhold a retort but frustration won out- _per usual with these gingers_\- and the words pushed past Ron's lips.

"Yeah, there's trouble," Ron hissed, "it's called a bloody war."

Ron raked a loaded look over Theo and the unvoiced accusation banked in the stare riled him.

Theo had no role to play in this war. In fact, he didn't want one. He was born into it like everyone fucking else. Was it his fault that he shared blood with a sadist?

Ron bared his teeth at the dark look that passed over Theo's face.

_Apparently, it was his fault._

Just as he was about to lash back, Lovegood stirred beside him and instantly Theo's attention shifted. She was plaiting her hair, seemingly unaware of the resentment simmering between the two boys, when she asked Theo to hold the ends of one braid.

Reluctantly, he grasped it and then Ron continued hotly, as if a single engaged hand would keep Theo at arms' length.

"There's no place for relationships in a war. It's just a weakness the enemy could use against you." At this, the ginger shot a pointed look to the Savior himself.

Sickeningly, Theo actually agreed with the prat's evaluation, although he could bring the dramatics down a touch. Theo half thought about it as he absently played with the silken strands in his hand, watching how Potter murmured to the female Weasley.

How they broke from the group, his hand a phantom guide on the girl's back.

A stifled hum of assent eventually settled in Theo's throat, despite that it was a Weasley he was agreeing with- he knew a truth when he saw one and Weaselette would be a perfect entry point to Potter's martyr-like morality.

Moving to cross his arms, Theo shook his head at the pitiful couple but was cut short.

"You might want to let go first," the blonde next to him said. Theo swallowed back his embarrassment and shook his hand free, shoving the traitorous thing in the folds of his robes. Lovegood completed her braid, murmuring a sticking spell to secure the ends. She hefted the mass over her shoulder and smiled a bit vacantly.

Theo didn't trust it one fucking bit.

He cleared his throat then asked, "Did you know Granger was going to attend the funeral?"

"Of course," she replied, her gaze far and away over the Black Lake. "If you know Hermione, then you know she wouldn't abandon Harry."

Theo closed his eyes in supplication. The chit was like a damn sphinx- ask her a question and she'd only talk you into a circle. Theo was determined, however, to force her onto a straight path.

Stepping in front of her, Theo broke her focus on the rippling surface of the Lake. He balked slightly at the newfound intensity in her gray eyes before pressing, "No, Lovegood. Did you know via the journal?"

She blinked. "Of course."

Lovegood shifted as if to move back to the others, as if the circuitous direction of the conversation was boring her and thus no longer worth her attention and Theo suddenly had the urge to tug on her freshly braided hair.

Hard.

He resisted, instead trapping her with his words because _dammit _it was the one thing he was good at.

"Were you ever going to tell us?" He demanded. Lovegood looked over her shoulder, genuinely confused.

"You never asked." Then she truly did dismiss him, loping through the grass on her way to reunite with Granger who had moved away from Blaise and back toward her fellow lions.

Theo really regretted not pulling her hair.

With long strides, he stalked her from behind; trying to convince himself all the while that it wasn't worth the mere second of satisfaction when pulling hair would most certainly result in unwanted attention.

Still though… as Lovegood came within reach, Theo impulsively curled a finger into the bottom of the braid, forcing her to come to a stop several meters from her friends.

On an impatient breath Theo asked, "How am I going to know what's happening once we're separated for the summer, if you don't deign to inform us while in the same castle?"

The slightest shiver moved up her spine, so subtle that if it weren't for her shimmery dress robes Theo never would have been able to detect it.

But as it quick as it was there, it dissipated, and Theo hadn't the chance to appreciate the meaning behind its existence in the first place.

Lovegood turned fully towards him and so he disengaged his fingers for the second time that day. She studied him as he attempted to be serious, a demeanor that did not come naturally; then again, Theo wasn't necessarily afraid to try hard things.

He was talking to Loony, after all.

At the thought, a disturbing and mischievous smile cut across Lovegood's face and he wondered, not for the first time, if the girl was a Legilimens. Her eyes seemed to glow with the acquisition of new knowledge.

He really needed stop thinking his thoughts so loudly.

"It's your face that gives you away, Theodore," as Lovegood took two lazy hops backwards. "Why don't you come visit me this summer? To see the journal."

She moved back toward the group and Theo slumped from the realization that this wouldn't be the last time he would be outmaneuvered- literally or figuratively- by Luna bloody Lovegood.

* * *

**A/N: AHHH I couldn't help it! I was going to push off this update until sometime next week but the spring sunshine has me antsy and a verrry rough draft of chapter 4 is almost complete. What the hell, I'm playing it fast and loose- I hope, then, you can enjoy a new point of view and the actual start to TRS!**

**Also, another note: I aim to have chapter 5 and 6 mostly complete before I move to post chapter 2 and did you know that reviews have some magic power in making that writing go faster? hahah**


	3. Summer Sights

**Summer Sights**

_-fragment of a journal entry_

_...Well, I'm back, safe and sound. Draco held his bad mood long after I returned but then I told him the good news about the runic ritual! At least, I think it's good news. Luna, should I be worried about repercussions? Why am I asking a book? -_

Luna felt an uncharacteristic frown pull at her lips. She hadn't gotten much time at the service to speak to Hermione which was reasonable since Luna had the journal in her possession and therefore probably received more information than even Ron and Harry.

So, at the service she _of course_ deferred to Hermione's desires to visit with them, to converse with Blaise and Theo. She _of course _didn't view it as being overlooked as a second-rate friend.

Luna released the thought before it could root in and create unnecessary insecurities. On a more relevant note, she probably shouldn't tell Harry and Ron about the journal. It would hurt them terribly.

Luna scanned the words again, snagging on the ominous ones.

_Runic ritual -_

_\- Repercussions… _the entry left her wishing she actually had gotten some time at the

service with her friend. It seemed like it would have benefitted them both. For different reasons.

Exhaling disappointingly, Luna settled her face back into the perfect mask of serenity. Her loving, eccentric father would be upstairs soon and nothing would be accomplished by worrying him.

Nothing was ever accomplished by worrying, except attracting the wrackspurts.

Luna lay back on her bed, shoving the art supplies aside in order to get comfortable, and then levitated the whole mattress until she was six inches from the ceiling. After casting a stasis charm, she regarded the set of eyes in front of her; she painted them ages ago when Hermione had first introduced her as 'Loony' to Ron and Harry.

She was charmed by Hermione's slip up, rather than offended, and knew immediately she'd like the girl as her friend.

Enemies didn't feel guilty over nasty nicknames.

Pursing her lips, Luna noted that after all this time, Hermione's eyes still weren't right. She squinted- it could be they were too multifaceted to accurately capture… that, or she was waist-deep in loneliness and thus, clouded by emotion.

She left Hermione's eyes alone for the time being and picked up a quill. Clenching it between her teeth, she uncapped a pot of shimmering gold ink. Luna dipped the quill, carefully knocked off the excess, and started to scribe the word 'friends' in a calligraphic chain around the heads of her three painted portraits, like an unbroken halo of light.

The task being tedious for her hands opened up her mind to re-explore the journal entry, the fragments of which beat restlessly in her mind.

_Runic rituals… _her hand swirled steadily from an 's' to an 'f', then the 'r' and so on… _runic rituals...what kind of good comes from such things? Unless…_

Luna's writing hand went limp, falling onto her torso and blotting her with ink. Suddenly her eyes rolled into the back of her head. A murky apparition formed on her eyelids, greatly resembling the black and white static-filled pictures that adorned the Daily Prophet.

It made the vision difficult to distinguish and Luna's eyelids fluttered, trying to sharpen the edges of the picture. She caught the colorless face of Draco Malfoy, mouth slack with relief… maybe… and then an arm, a male one based on the looks of lean, corded muscles, with a set of runes tattooed into the forearm's skin.

The picture dissolved, like twilight surrendering to the black of night and gingerly Luna opened her eyes.

The delicate chain of words barely materialized in front of her before she heard a knock on her door. Xenophilius stepped through, gaze already trained on the ceiling.

"Luna bug, I hope you cast a stasis charm before settling yourself up there." He tutted and she exhaled to try and steady her still-erratic heartbeat, the runes' image held fierce in her mind.

Luna could hear him moving about beneath her as he lacked the discipline to stand still; finally composed, she lowered the bed and smiled somewhat serenely up at her father.

It was times like these she was grateful for his lack of intuition.

"Ah, Luna bug, splattered with paint as usual," the man said affectionately without making any effort to remove the gold flecks from her shirt. "No matter. You've a guest waiting."

A flutter of impatience heated her chest. She had no time for guests, or hospitality served with tea. She had a vision to dissect. Her very first.

It deserved the proper attention.

Luna's father seemed not the least bit aware of her silence as he moved toward the door.

She stood, steadfast.

The man gestured over his shoulder to follow. "Come, dear. Mr. Night won't wait forever. He's likely done with his gurdyroot tea!"

The man disappeared but Luna still stood. The flutters in her chest changed direction, from impatient to curious. A Ravenclaw didn't disregard curious.

Quickly, she grabbed a self-inking quill and as she blindly descended the stairs, Luna sketched the runes from her vision on her own arm before they left her mind entirely. She twirled around the bannister and ran right into a chest. It was lean and firm and most definitely not her father's as her head landed perfectly to hear a heartbeat, _Nope. Not Daddy. He's too tall._

Luna looked up as two hands suddenly gripped her arms, shoving her back. Theodore let go hastily. Their gazes clashed and for the space of a moment, Luna marveled at the deep, dark shade of his eyes.

She smiled and he stiffened and Luna found it an odd reaction to such a benign facial expression unless _were all Slytherins so defensive? _Inwardly shrugging, she expressed her more pressing thoughts.

"Night suits you, as a name." She raised a finger to her own eyes to indicate her connection. "Why did you lie, though?"

"I didn't." He immediately replied, his face closing. Luna cocked her head, even more curious now.

They stared in the silence, several meters apart, and each took the time to assess the other. Since leaving school a week ago, Theodore had already cut his hair which brought the rich brunet strands to fall in a styled fringe atop his head.

Luna didn't really think it suited him; her opinion hardly mattered, though.

She perused his clothes and upon further inspection, found he was fully adorned from his fresh-pressed silk trousers to his black satin waistcoat, buttoned fully which only emphasized the trimness of his waist.

Luna's gaze skittered back up to his eyes, ignoring the skipped beat of her heart, but she found Theo's attention elsewhere- on the black marks she scribbled onto her arm before meeting him.

She did so love a puzzle and based on the crease between Theodore's eyebrows, he did too, but first-

"Why?" She repeated.

His eyes connected with hers again, curiosity fading to a reluctant sort of resignation.

"Nott means nights, you said so yourself." A pause, where Theodore insolently twisted his hand, wandlessly undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

Luna's gaze barely flicked at his clever little piece of magic and when Theodore realized that his act of deflection proved ineffective, he huffed theatrically, shedding his waistcoat in the process. It flew through the air and landed on one of her father's sculptures of some fossilized horn before he admitted impatiently, "I lied because I wasn't sure if your father would allow a Nott entry."

Luna wanted to reply that lying was much worse than being a Nott but Theo left her no space for debate as he moved back to the runes. "What are those?"

She looked at them herself. "Runes."

He groaned and attempted to pull at his shorn locks. "Must you always be so literal? Can you not just assume I have a modicum of intelligence and can therefore discern for myself that they are runes?"

"Then why ask the question?" She retorted with a hint of challenge, the breath backing up in her throat. There was something immensely invigorating about riling up Theodore, the way he quickly turned from irreverence to ire, and as he stomped across the room toward her Luna felt a thrill trace up her spine.

He ignored her question for the moment in favor of craning his neck in attempt to see the entirety of the runes.

Luna playfully crossed her arms behind her back and she was rewarded with a withering look.

"I asked," he gritted, "because the question has many subtexts. Something you've proven to be adept at reading."

The compliment, no matter how reluctantly it was given, brought a smile to her face. He took that as permission to pull her arms back around and fully consider the runes. His fingers were warm as they ran up her forearms.

Sensing his need for concession, she offered, "I don't know what they mean yet but I imagine it has something to do with Hermione's entry."

At that, Theodore's eyes snapped up to her.

"I was wondering if she'd written. That's why I'm here."

Luna tilted her head toward the stairs, then headed back up to her room. "I know. What else would bring you here?"

The words, thrown over her shoulder as she climbed, had her missing the melancholic tilt to Theodore's lips, gone again before they even crossed the threshold. Luna grasped the journal and turned to give it over but Theodore's gaze was away from her and on the ceiling.

"The gold stains make sense now," he observed, bringing his eyes back down.

Tossing him the journal she quipped, "I always strive to make sense."

He smiled slightly, and then perused the journal starting at the very beginning.

And Luna read him the way he read the entries- voraciously, intently, like he was part of a series of clues to a riddle not yet fully revealed.

She watched as his thumb paused on a page and the rest of his fingers fanned through the blank section.

The inevitable was imminent.

Theodore's eyes were trained on the journal when he ventured, "There's no indication in her entry about specific runes- only a ritual. So…" he drew the word out, as if he were uncertain of the question he wished to ask.

Luna found herself gazing back at the mural of her friends; Theodore wasn't painted up there. Only three faces graced her ceiling and they were of the people Luna implicitly trusted… maybe she should consider adding Ginny and Neville to the ranks since nothing quite bonded like shared combat…

Nevertheless, Theodore wasn't one she trusted.

Luna was silent for so long that Theodore tried again, this time forming an actual question. "So, where did you learn about the runes?"

Yet. She so hated to lie. Carefully skittering past his face, Luna studied the runes on her arms. They were already starting to bleed.

Lightly she said, "I haven't yet. Do you know what they symbolize?"

Another drawn out pause, as if the oxygen were too thin to sustain them with a single breath, or the words too complex to fit in the space between them.

Finally, Theodore decided on something because he started rifling through the supplies on her bed- an act so intimate that it made Luna fidget- and unearthed a sheet of parchment with quill and the pot of gold ink.

He braced himself against a wall, gesturing that Luna should take the ink. She moved closer and then uncapped the pot so Theodore could meticulously dip the quill. His loopy, extravagant handwriting stretched across the sheet.

"Blaise will know," he explained. "Hold out your arm."

Dutifully, Luna thrust it out and Theodore tipped his chin down so he could accurately sketch the runes. When he was complete, he blew lightly to dry the ink before snapping the parchment into a scroll.

"I'll let you know once I have an answer," then without a look or by-your-leave, the boy shocked Luna by disappearing down the stairs and out the house.

She couldn't say she particularly liked the feeling.

She couldn't wait to repay the favor.

oOo

When Theo received the letter from Blaise just a short 24 hours later, he didn't immediately hie off to the Lovegoods' place. His initial visit left much to be desired- and that included the awful Gurdyroot swill Mr. Lovegood served him. But fuck it if he didn't last even three days past the end of school before he broke down and visited in the first place.

The letter sat sealed on his dark, walnut desk since he believed in _some _good manners and felt despite the unpleasantness of the first visit, he should read the letter with the Queen of Crazy.

He didn't know how she got those runes and that fact was driving him mad.

_On second thought… _Theo was halfway to justifying an evening visit when he heard the familiar pop of a house elf.

"Master Nott is waiting for you for dinner," the little mite squeaked before popping away again. Theo's hand dropped, hitting the wood dispiritedly, and the sound of his cufflink clinking had him gritting his teeth.

Donning his dress robes, he took a moment to look in his full-length mirror. The ostentation required for a dinner of two boiled his blood and with the amount of layers he had on just to _eat, _a cooling charm was necessary if he hoped to be even slightly comfortable. He cast it and then, before pulling away from his reflection, he impulsively pulled at the short brown locks until they spiked away from his head.

Satisfied, he exited his chambers, disapparating across the manor to the dining room. Theodore Nott Sr. stood inside, already waiting rather stiffly by the head chair. Theo left the one on his father's right open, the view always sending a little pang through his chest, and opted for the left chair.

They seated themselves in unison as the first course appeared. While young Nott didn't tarry in consuming the chilled cucumber soup, his father brooded in Theo's direction.

"If only you took the amount of care with your hair as you did your clothing, Theodore," he chided.

Theo stiffened at the full moniker, then thought he may proceed to glamour the tips green for tomorrow's meal.

Knowing there was no use in replying, Theo continued as quickly as possible through his first course… just not too quickly. He wouldn't want to give his father another excuse to point out his uncouthness.

The rest of dinner went on well enough and by 'well', Theo meant that father and son did not converse. Theo learned early on one did not speak unless spoken to, so he savored the duck glazed with gooseberries and the last of the spring asparagus, slurping his wine between bites as he tried to not conspicuously stare at his father for some reaction.

By the cheese course, Theo was thoroughly buzzed and still feeling the sense of disquiet prickling underneath the silent affair. He nibbled on a slice of Irish cheddar, despite being too full to truly enjoy it, and then felt it stick as his father cleared his throat.

"Care for a nightcap, Theodore," but the words weren't framed as a question. He followed his father at a snail's pace. Nothing the man had to say could bode well for Theo.

The drawing room decor was even darker against the drawn curtains, even though a fire lay cackling in the hearth. Nott Sr. moved toward it, resting his hand atop the stone.

"There's something to be said about legacy," he postured to the dying flames. "It's the foundation of our histories and it's the priority of any family who wishes to command power and respect well into the future."

The older man turned sharply and Theo repressed the instinct to step back. Although he didn't share any features of his father- having been a carbon copy of his mother- he knew intimately the man's strength.

Far too intimately.

"Do you agree?" And Theo nodded because a good little snake knew when to go along if it hoped to make it back to its den in one piece. A fate which didn't appear to be in the cards for him as his father prowled toward Theo.

"That's difficult to believe," Nott Sr. murmured silkily, "since your best friend, junior Death Eater, and epitome of all things Pureblood went and defected."

Theo's heart pounded as the man bore down on him from his considerable height. His eyes, black from the dimly lit room, glittered maliciously.

"Where's the legacy now?"

Theo swallowed and replied in a measured tone, "I don't know."

The question had been asked of Theo a dozen times over, in all variations, since he returned home but the menace emanating from his father sharpened the present interrogation until it felt like the point was pressing into the hollow of Theo's throat.

After a time, the man grunted his dissatisfaction and said viciously, "The young Malfoy has chosen his fate. I'm sure he'll regret it when he meets it eye-to-eye." Nott Sr. sidestepped Theo, billowing his dress robes with a punctuated thrust of his hand as he headed for the door.

Pausing at the threshold, the man said in an undertone, "I can only hope my excuse of a legacy keeps that in mind when it is his turn to choose a side."

_-Very early, the next morning-_

Theo apparated, letter in hand, at the literal break of dawn to the Lovegood residence. He knew the hour to be ghastly, that no sane human would be awake, and therefore perfect timing to approach Loony Lovegood.

He studied the house more thoroughly than he did on his first arrival and was discombobulated by the lopsided silhouette it cut against the vermillion sky. It quietly defied logic in the way it slanted sharply to the left.

_Suited for its inhabitants, I suppose. _Theo remained rooted as a much darker observation unfurled inside him. _What does that say about our deathly, isolated manor then?_

Sun rays shot into the gray expanse above the roof line, briefly reminding Theo of Lovegood's eyes.

Untainted like the break of day.

His cheeks grew hot from the ridiculous thought. Stupid, bloody sunrises painting stuff poetic… it's why sane individuals slept in.

Theo strode toward the front door, dodging the floating fruit on the towering tree that hugged the front wall, and he rapped quickly. Silence prevailed. He held up his fist, considering, and then decided to retrace his steps to the grassy knoll.

From there, Theo stared closely at the logic-defying section of the house. _Who else would decide to sleep suspended over just air?_

Just as he was considering shooting sparks in front of her window, he heard the ruffle of grass behind him. Theo whirled around. The batty Ravenclaw herself was treading barefoot up the hill and toward the house, stopping only when she noticed Theo.

He honest-to-Merlin didn't want to know. Honestly.

"Why aren't you wearing shoes?" He blurted anyway. Damn him and his insatiable need for knowledge.

Lovegood smiled. "Good morning, Theodore," she greeted, shifting whatever she was carrying from one arm to the other. If Theo were any type of gentleman, he would offer to carry it… but 'it' looked suspect, indeed.

Also potentially alive.

He cleared his throat questioningly. Lovegood glanced down at her feet and then turned those daybreak eyes back to him.

"Better to feel the Earth's energy this way," was all she said. Closing in on him, she continued, "Fast reply, then?"

Too disconcerted by her proximity, Theo missed the question. He rocked back gently on his heels, attempting to put some space between them. "Hm?"

Lovegood entirely ignored him and all social convention. She stepped right up, chest-to-chest, and reached down, plucking the letter from his fingers. The smell of gardenia wafted up from her loose, fluttering strands and he inhaled swiftly.

"I didn't imagine you came for breakfast," she teased cheerfully as she held up the letter between them. "Do the honors?"

And the chit flopped down onto the dew-covered grass, soothing the wriggling plants in her hand with a few murmurs as she settled herself flat on the ground. Hesitantly, Theo took the letter back from her outstretched hand. He remained standing as he broke the seal since Italian silk wasn't meant to be rolled through the early morning dew. He read aloud Blaise's response, his lips unwillingly curling at the git's snark.

_Theo,_

_Firstly, what in the bloody fuck possessed you to write with gold ink? Were you trying to blind me or just practice your pretension from afar?_

Lovegood giggled at that and Theo flushed with embarrassment. He kept reading.

_Secondly, I'm a little surprised to be talking about these runes again, so soon. Medusa approached me looking for some advice on protective runes and what you sketched me is basically what I offered to her. The set stands for protection, light, and life. I wish I could say more but that's all I know. Now- what do you know?_

Theo refolded the letter, only then letting his eyes settle on Lovegood's prone form. She was staring up at a sky, now infinitely blue. Her tongue dipped out from her lips to moisten them before she observed, "You Slytherins give terrible nicknames."

After that, she remained quiet, contemplative, in the wake of information while Theo's tongue burned to lash out with Blaise's question, over and over until Lovegood gave him what he wanted.

An answer, an honest one, filled with the knowledge behind her eyes.

Which would lead to vulnerability.

And maybe trust.

These aspirations had Blaise's question mellowing in his mouth, giving way to something a bit sweeter, something that tasted a bit like compromise. He so enjoyed the acquisition of knowledge and all that came with it.

So Theo crouched on his haunches, feet planted on either side of Lovegood's head and forced their gazes to clash.

Midnight blue and daybreak gray.

Her eyes widened at their closeness and a delicious tension bowed in his stomach. Theo's throat bobbed, then he said, "Why did you lie on the ground?" It's wet."

Her lips parted, so pale like frosted glass, as her eyes darted around his face.

Reading the wrinkle of his nose, calculating the curiosity in his eyes.

Devouring the sharp angle of his jaw.

His throat bobbed again, more painfully this time.

"Perspective," Lovegood finally answered and her eyes moved away from his face and back to the sky. "Everything's different from down here."

Theo's feet were really starting to go numb under his crouched knees but his perspective, as she would say, of Lovegood at this angle was too fascinating.

_What's a little pain for a little knowledge?_

He put his hands down and leaned forward, crowding her vision until it was only him that she could see. Not the landscape, the bloody blue sky, nor the steaming, summer sun sitting atop the trees- he would win her attention at least until he got his fill.

Or an answer, whichever came first.

"Lovegood, what could they need protection from?" He paused but she didn't rise to the bait. "Could the safe house they're in be compromised?" He tried again and this time earning that crease between her brows.

Theo wanted to press on it until it released all the answers trapped behind her skin. His hand twitched on the damp grass.

She drew out an answer. "I think," she started, the words low and tentative, "that it's Draco who needs protection because it's Draco who has a tie to You-Know-Who."

Theo felt the blood drain from his face. How the fuck could he have forgotten?

"The Dark Mark," he muttered to himself.

Lovegood's brow remained furrowed and she sucked her lip under her bright, even teeth and Theo knew implicitly that more information was caught there too, more knowledge of how she knew what she knew.

His eyes snagged on her mouth and he considered the multitude of ways to unlock those lips, to draw out the words.

And some of them were sounding surprisingly pleasurable.

He crept an inch closer as his trousers tightened uncomfortably. Lovegood tilted her head just so and the rush of imminent victory flooded his veins, pumping him forward until the flighty little witch deflected.

She fluidly dodged his descent by a hairsbreadth, _the fucking tease, _and brought herself to standing. Looking down, with the sun behind her, Lovegood's face was thrown in shadow as her unnatural hair glowed.

Theo cursed all pale blond humans to Hell. They clearly weren't worth the trouble.

He felt rather than saw the dimpling smile that creased her cheeks.

"Care for breakfast, Theodore? I collected these silver singing reeds fresh this morning. They go great with kippers." Theo stayed crouched and crabby.

Lovegood sighed a rare bit of acquiescence. "I'm worried for them too. Let's eat and then we can talk about the runes."

She offered a hand and because Theo seemed destined to be distraught over blondes, he took it, blatantly ignoring the warmth that tingled on his skin at contact.

* * *

A/N: I can't seem to hold to my word. Chapter 5 is just about finished and yet, I felt terrible letting it come to a month of no updates so HERE I AM! I hope you enjoy it and know that Dramione features in the next chapter, for those that are following from FIBH! Thanks for reading, following, favoriting, and extra thanks to anyone who reviews.


	4. Protection, Life, and Light

**Protection, Life, and Light**

* * *

Hermione sat seated around the rough-hewn kitchen table with the other 4 residents of the house. The Malfoys, all regal-ness, sat stiffly in their seats as if the wood ran straight up their spines. Andromeda and Ted Tonks, on the other hand, canted towards one another with the easy affection of a long and loving marriage.

Their hands were stacked upon one another in full view of everyone and while Mrs. Malfoy twitched uncomfortably at the sight, Hermione warmed to it. In the isolation of the safe house where the dark clouds of war pressed in on them from every side, effectively trapping them in, Hermione longed for evidence of the good.

It kept her raging against the bad.

Tonks had popped over for a visit and was currently levitating tea things to the table. Draco sneered at the liquid. "I'm going to need something stronger than that."

Mrs. Malfoy tutted him as she proceeded to pour tea for her side of the table. "You won't because you won't be going through with this."

_This, _as she so nonchalantly referred to it, was the runic ritual Hermione had laid out to the household over a breakfast that occurred two hours ago…

_This _was their third pot of tea. Hermione sighed and gathered the shreds of patience still remaining. Much of _that _had been flushed away with their second pot.

"Mrs. Malfoy," she started before being cut off by Andromeda.

"I hate to say that I agree with Narcissa." The name was stiff on the woman's tongue, even three months into their co-inhabitation. Hermione still didn't know how they ended up here of all places on that fateful day.

"The magic you speak of is archaic, Hermione, and therefore temperamental. Not to mention the runes are permanent."

Draco exhaled impatiently. "It's not like I've ever made a permanent decision before," as he brought his left arm onto the table. The Dark Mark was exposed to the air, as well as much of his arm which exhibited the physical consequences of ignoring the countless calls by Voldemort.

The skin was less pale and more translucent, with minute black rivulets leaching out and away from the Mark and beginning to taint the rest of the arm. The ligaments and muscles were weak and trembled near constantly now; Hermione hadn't even seen Draco attempt the use of a wand or writing implement since before she left for Dumbledore's service 5 days earlier.

And then there was no denying the jagged red scar that bisected the skull of the tattoo. Hermione cast her eyes away from Draco's sole attempt at getting rid of the tattoo for good, his way.

The table had grown unnaturally quiet after Draco's cynical admission. Fingering her teacup, Hermione ran through her list of arguments again in her head so that she could better counteract the Black sisters' skepticism.

As she deliberated, though, two surprising allies rose to the fore. "Merlin," Tonks breathed. Her eyes flicked up to Draco's, displaying authentic sympathy. "You can't live like that." Then she turned to her mother, "He can't fight like that."

Ted put a hand on her daughter before she derailed. "I agree," he said to her and then gave a pleasant, unthreatening smile to his wife and sister-in-law.

"What's your suggestion if not the runes?"

It was a logical question to ask about a plan B. Both witches remained silent, stone-faced at the innocuous remark, and Hermione's heart swelled with hope. She looked to Draco whose mercurial eyes were already devouring her expression. She smiled and Narcissa caught it and the woman's reserve snapped.

"No. I'm sorry but I won't allow it. For all we know, he could lose the arm entirely or die!"

Draco slammed his right hand down on the table hard, pushing his chair back angrily. "Then I might as well apparate back to him the next time he calls, Mother, because I'm good as dead either way."

Clenching his teeth he said with finality, "Four to two vote. Now are you going to help Granger or not?"

Everyone looked to Narcissa who, after an eternity, just barely dipped her head in accord.

"Well," Tonks proclaimed as she vaulted from the chair on her way back to the kitchen, "we will definitely need that firewhisky now."

A few moments later, Hermione was huddled into Draco's side during the rare alone time they had before the ritual began. She had a million things she wanted to say to him, had to truly, but no words to encapsulate it all.

So she just laced her fingers through his and put her lips to the base of his neck, kissing the message there. Hoping he'd understand.

"You carry this burden as if it's yours. But it's not." Draco delivered the words sternly. "It's not your fault I'm carved up like this and it's not your fault I ran and obviously it's not your fault that the sonofabitch is torturing me through it."

He understood. He understood but he didn't and Hermione just went on planting her apology on his skin.

"Hermione," Draco said, a bit softer now. Forgiveness laced the word. Forgiveness and a nudge back to sensibility, back to the "now". Reluctantly, Hermione untangled herself from him and her self-hatred spiral just as the door to the room opened.

Tonks entered the room with her hands full of supplies, Narcissa on her heels. Tonks handed Draco a decanter.

"Drink up, Cuz," she ordered and then the pink-haired Auror reviewed the supplies with Hermione. As she triple-checked the tome in front of her, Tonks said lowly, "Dad is keeping Mum occupied. She refused to help- says we're playing with fire."

Hermione's hand hovered over the book before swallowing. "More like blood," she attempted to quip. Neither smiled.

The young brunette gripped the ink and turned back to Narcissa. "Mrs. Malfoy, could you imbue the ink with magic please? I think, being that Draco is your son, that his own core will respond most favorably to the magic it resembles."

The woman merely pursed her lips before taking the pot; shutting her eyes, she fingered her wand in one hand and the ink in another as she concentrated on her task.

Tonks closed the door then lit the incense, scenting the air with the spicy warmth of cinnamon. Hermione watched Draco consume the firewhisky in purposeful gulps, alternating with audible inhales of the soothing, cinnamon aroma.

When his eyes turned heavy-lidded, she gently dislodged the bottle from his grasp and assisted him on lying back onto the floor. His right arm was turned up. Tonks and Narcissa laid the supplies in Hermione's reach- salt, a knife, the imbued ink, the book, and a quill.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched Draco in his drowsy state- the ritual seemed ludicrous now that it was within arm's reach, but then he smirked at her.

"Get on with it, Granger," he mumbled and the breath puffed out of her on a strained laugh.

Picking up the knife, she hovered the blade over his forearm, muttering her way through the instructions that had been memorized a week ago.

"Runes, means to carve, and for the protection to be any good it needs to at least penetrate as far down as the Dark Mark. I _have _to carve, Draco."

Draco slurred, "We know this already," impatience heavy in a voice slowed by drink.

Hermione glared, then softened, then put the knife to skin.

_I'm sorry._

She carved into his arm the straight lines of Algiz.

By the second line, Draco started cursing under his breath.

Blood ran down his arm in streams, pooling on the floor beneath him, mimicking the sweat trailing down the sides of her face. When Narcissa moved to vanish the blood, Hermione was forced to snap at her.

"No."

The woman gripped her wand, refusing to put it away, but also didn't move further.

Checking the book even though all of it had already been scored in her mind, Hermione studied the rune Kenaz.

"One down," she murmured to Draco, and he tensed as the knife kissed his skin once more.

The firewhisky had burned through his blood. Tonks moved to secure his shaking shoulders. A gut-wrenching groan shuddered out of him as Hermione finished the cut.

The blood ran darker, faster.

"I'm cold, Hermione."

She felt the tears catch in her eyelashes. Blinked them away.

"One more, Draco."

Inguz. The hardest one. The longest one.

"Hold him tight, Tonks," Hermione whispered as she began her final cutting. The knife dragged long on his skin, the zig-zag pattern a toil, and the shedding of blood was no longer enough of a release.

The pain ripped a moan from Draco and Narcissa spasmed on Hermione's right.

"Why- why can't we stun him?" Her voice was strained.

Hermione finished the first zig-zag and stopped a moment, turning somber eyes to the woman.

"Magic has a price. Pain," Hermione's voice broke. She tried again. "Pain for the protection."

Narcissa's eyes skipped over Hermione's contorted face, then she knelt beside Tonk's. Grasped Draco's left hand, nodded.

Hermione began again, driven by the light at the end of the tunnel, by Narcissa's support, and Tonks' aid, and the noises from Draco that shot straight through her chest.

_There, _she thought breathlessly, finishing the last of the runes a couple minutes later.

_Now… _with no time to waste, Hermione padded his arm with a warm damp towel, until the white of the cloth was painted red. The ink and quill came next.

She deftly dipped into the black liquid before scraping it gently through the seeping cuts on Draco's skin. It mixed with the blood, resembling wine, and Hermione chanted fervently the spell in the tome that would enmesh the magicked ink with the fresh carvings.

"Radicte, radicte," and the ink filled up the lines.

"Radicte." Hermione's voice broke over the lone tear that escaped from Draco's closed eyelid.

She shuddered and paused.

"Radicte," she intoned again as the inguz rune turned black and bold against the pale, white skin. The room breathed an audible sigh of relief at the sight of fully inked, runic tattoos; even Draco cracked open his eyes. A tired not-quite smile flicked across his face.

Hermione leaned across his body in order to gaze seriously into his clouded, grey eyes.

"One more thing, love. You've been… so strong."

She nodded to the firewhisky bottle which Tonks retrieved, handing it over to a slightly propped Draco. He drank. His throat bobbed shakily as the liquid analgesic ran down, down, into his belly and blood. Eventually he pushed it away with a weak hand.

"Just fucking finish," he muttered before collapsing back to the ground.

Reaching for the salt, Hermione nodded wordlessly to Tonks and Narcissa, both latching onto Draco's form. She poured the salt on the first rune.

And Draco finally screamed.

oOo

Luna stilled in the pleasant, afternoon sunlight as the high-pitched noise faded from the inside of her head. She had been sitting in the grass, silently scanning one of the books Theodore had retrieved from his home earlier in the day.

He left shortly after breakfast under the pretense of bringing back reference material for the two of them to study, in the hopes of discovering the purpose to the unspecified runic ritual- but Luna knew he was lying.

He truthfully just craved space from her home that was admittedly very odd.

One day she'd get him to say what he meant.

Regardless of social niceties- because even she could admit that he carried them in spades when he wanted to- the boy returned after luncheon with two pocketfuls of shrunken books. They had been perusing them ever since, even opting to take tea in the grassy patch several meters to the west of the house, since neither could deny the perfection of the June afternoon.

Also, it was much quieter without her father attempting to school Theodore in all things conspiracy. He cared little for lore about the Deathly Hallows.

And yet, even with the balmy breeze and crumbly scones, the serene afternoon went topsy-turvy when Luna finally distinguished the noise inside of her head.

"Screaming," she murmured, pressing hard on one of her ears as if to release the noise to nature. Too immersed in his book, Theodore only responded with a vague "hmm" which was probably for the best.

Not-quite-honest Slytherins shouldn't know about her sudden Seer abilities. Probably.

The scream had subsided although the echo of it jarred Luna more than its sudden onslaught. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the remnants of the sound and downed the rest of her tea. The dregs clung limply to the sides as her eyes opened, taking them in.

"Theodore," she called, her tone almost questioning as the symbols surfaced in the leaves, "maybe we should look at rituals involving tattoos."

Her gaze turned outward and landed on the boy's blank stare.

A sigh seemed to catch in his throat as he gurgled a bit before saying, "I hate to ask, but why?"

Luna hated that he asked too. It made her desire to be as honest as possible that much more inconvenient. She shrugged, leveled her tone, "My tea leaves say so."

Then she focused back on the books, running a finger through the appendices, grateful and also pervertedly delighted when after a moment she heard Theo grumble and return to the search.

His grumble made Luna's insides dance.

She wasn't sure if that made her a sadist.

He called, "Loony," but the name was less cutting and more communal and so she scooted over to where he sat, in a transfigured chair. Prim and proper, a Pureblood snob.

He shot a sideways glare as she settled next to him. "You'll get grass stains all over."

"What did you find?"

Theodore's finger pointed to a section titled 'Runic Branding'. They scanned the passages together, nearly in sync as both swiftly inhaled when they reached one archaic ritual involving runes, magicked ink, and pain.

Quite a bit of pain, by Luna's estimation.

Perhaps she wasn't a sadist after all.

Theodore's hand trembled as he brought it to his lap. "Granger would never… to Draco. He couldn't- " and then the awful possibilities choked him, rendering the thoughts incomplete.

Luna felt the possibilities less like emotional lumps in the throat and more like a magnifying lens, sharpening the initial picture that brought them here.

"I think Hermione would. I think she would do whatever it took for Draco."

The answer didn't seem to soothe Theodore in the least.

In the silence that followed, the idyll of the afternoon drained from the air around them and Luna didn't know how to get it back.

She also didn't know why she wanted it so badly.

Uncomfortable, she shifted her weight from one hand to another and inadvertently brushed her shoulder against Theodore's leg.

He shot immediately from the chair. "I should get going. The books shouldn't stay outside for very long." His long arms, completely clothed despite the summer warmth, scrambled for the books in reach before accruing the rest.

"Of course," she said, too evenly. Impatience flared in her chest. "We could just move everything inside."

That rather logical observation seemed to horrify him as his eyes widened comically. Luna didn't know if she were offended or entertained by his reaction.

Theodore stuttered, "I need to go. Home. WIth my books."

Then he quickly shrunk them and walked past her and the property wards, apparating away with a _very _audible sigh of relief.

* * *

**A/N: Little chapter to hopefully hold as I start maneuvering the bigger plot bunnies ahead! My lovely beta, all the kudos to continuing your guidance and support through our second multi-chapter fic! I hope to be back after graduation, friends. 16 DAYS!**


	5. Because It's Decided

**Because it's Decided**

* * *

Theo was in a spot. It had been two days since he ran from Lovegood and in the last 40 hours away from that madness, he'd been suffocating under a different one entirely.

Nott Manor had never been well occupied; since his mother died, Theo lived alone in the gigantic cavern of a house with just his father. If he truly wanted, he could go days between seeing the man since Theo had been blessed with a whole wing to himself.

It even included a personal library.

The elves could bring him food- what more could he possibly want?

He sighed disgustedly. _Apparently more, _Theo thought, as he stalked a discolored path through his plush carpet. An elf had just popped in to take away his breakfast tray and with no acknowledgment whatsoever, the creature disappeared a second later and Theo was alone.

Again.

Since his return from Hogwarts, Nott Sr. has left before the breakfast hour and was gone the entire day every single day. Upon returning, his father would shed his cloak of cruelty in order to put on more civil clothes for "family dinner". Otherwise, Theo was left to amuse himself however he pleased.

And the fact that he found his father's daily rituals like nepotism and torture as regular, predictable even, had him wondering which madness was worse-

The madness of loneliness?

Or Lovegood-laced madness?

Theo halted his stalking. If he were being honest, an estimation of madness in regards to the Lovegoods was harsh. The girl certainly lacked social convention…

He thought of the blonde brushing his leg in the field and the requisite electric shock on contact.

Also, she had no compunction for invading personal space. Madness may be too harsh a judgement, yes, but both Lovegoods were well within the realm of eccentric.

Theo picked up his prowling, agitation coursing through his veins.

_And would the chit ever owl him about new journal entries?_

"Bloody fucking hell," he growled. Even he could admit that it was just pathetic the amount of talking to oneself that he currently engaged in. So he snatched up his wand and disapparated from his house.

Nearly anywhere would be better than that insanity-courting hell hole. Theo crossed over onto the Lovegood estate and caught sight of Mr. Lovegood himself, donned only in pants, as he trimmed the floating fruit tree in the front of the house.

The boy sighed. Coming upon the man, Theo cleared his throat. Mr. Lovegood stiffened for only a second, then he turned his head until Theo filled his peripheral vision.

"Ah, Mr. Night! A pleasant morning!"

Always, paradoxically, Theo relaxed under the cheerful ignorance that was Xenophilius Lovegood. The straightforward friendly, almost inclusive inflection of Lovegood's tone melted away the tension of his home life. He could get used to that. And yet, he _really, really_ couldn't.

"And to you, sir," Theo replied, "although I do recall saying you can call me Theo."

The blond fellow snipped a single leaf from the tree into his waiting palm. Lovegood stuffed it into the waist of his pants where, now that Theo's attention had been drawn, he could see several others sticking out. Theo pasted a bland smile on his face, trying to work out how he could successfully maneuver around Lovegood before blurting out that the man was a human plant.

Lovegood continued on in the conversation, oblivious.

"No, no. Mr. Night suits you," and the soft snip of scissors punctuated the words as the man reflected, "Theo's a far too simple, wry rendition of your person. You, Mr. Night, are somber. Vast."

_Dark, _Theo finished for him bleakly. He immediately wanted to shred the reflex thought to pieces, irritated that it ever occurred to him in the first place, that it ever had the gall to send such hopelessness through his veins. He wasn't Draco; he didn't have a crisis of identity.

His father was a malicious asshole and he was just Theo and that was _that. _

Except it wasn't because somehow Lovegood was still talking.

"In some ways you resemble a Dirgible Plum," observed the man, which left Theo wondering if he made the right decision in leaving his home that morning.

Lovegood remained intensely focused on the tree which Theo presumed to be of the Dirgible Plum variety. So lucky was he, to be getting an Herbology lesson in the early July morning as Lovegood maintained the one-side conversation, as if Theo were all ears.

"You see, Dirgible is such a silly name for this immensely powerful plant. The leaves are excellent for burn poultices but the fruit- ah, therein lies the real power."

The man finally looked over his shoulder fully and snared Theo in a piercing gaze.

"One touch of the unpretentious fruit and they explode."

Gulping, Theo scanned the tree with a newfound appreciation, as well as a healthy dose of fear; his gait was usually nonchalant and the last thing he needed was to be brushing the damn exploding fruit by accident.

"Sir," Theo ventured, "Is Luna in?"

The question broke the pressure of the moment and soon Mr. Lovegood was back to his normal, odd self… as opposed to his scary, odd self. He motioned with his free hand.

"Of course, dear boy. You'll find her in her room."

Theo bolted inside. When he reached Loony's room, he found a mattress levitated to the ceiling and a pale hand gripping a paint brush as it flicked Longbottom into life. He watched in silence for a few moments, reluctantly impressed at the way she seemed to capture more than just eye color or hair style; she caught their essence.

Theo wondered what he'd look like painted across her walls.

"I'll be down in a moment, Theodore," Lovegood suddenly announced and a raging blush flamed his cheeks, being caught in her room like some silent stalker. He only hoped that she was being truthful back at Hogwarts, when she told him that it was his face that gave him away. Because if she were a true Legilimens, he'd be fucked by the thought he just had.

Dipping his head, he emptied his mind and intensely studied the immaculate beds of his fingernails as she finished up her art.

"How did you know I was here?" He asked stiffly, still very much miffed at his own embarrassment. She was rolling off the bed in a fluid motion when her reply came.

"You were breathing loudly." Lovegood dimpled at him then reached for the journal, continuing, "It's as if you have a 6th sense about when an entry shows up. Sure you're not a Seer?"

Theo ignored the strange energy behind the goading question and gripped the journal, reading quickly the too-brief entry.

_-fragment of a journal entry_

_The ritual worked! Draco is safe now, truly safe. It was… unfathomable to witness but of all people, Luna, I think you would understand that it was necessary. Its necessity begs the question, though, of what we really learn about magic while at school. Is there really a clear-cut line about what is good or bad, light or dark? Regardless, my attention turns to research for Harry now. Will we see you at the Weasley wedding?-_

He read it once, then twice. Then he looked carefully at Lovegood. She stood, her hands primly entwined in front of her. The scent of gardenia was stronger than normal that morning, as if her hair had been recently washed.

From head to feet she looked the picture of innocence and goodness and Theo was burning from the curiosity of how this wisp of a girl could understand… anything at all. Even moreso, how she could understand what sounded like dark fucking magic.

He took a leisurely step forward while deciding to ask the most innocuous question first.

"What Weasley wedding?" Lovegood's breathing changed as their proximity did. She inhaled and her ribcage fluttered under her short-sleeve shirt.

"The oldest," she responded. "He's marrying Fleur Delacour. The Beauxbatons' Triwizard champion."

"The part veela?"

Lovegood nodded once.

"Lucky him," Theo muttered, mostly to himself, but the grey of Lovegood's eyes sharpened to steel. He stowed that little kernel of gold away for later introspection. Theo moved another step closer.

"You were right," he conceded, sincerity clumsy on his tongue, "about it being related to Draco."

Inexplicably, she glanced up at her ceiling where the half-finished Longbottom joined the Golden Trio, and then brought her eyes back to Theo. She merely nodded.

Curiosity's burn raged like fiendfyre and the heat of it made his head rush as he took yet another step forward. Yet again, he noted her breathing change, shallower now like the frenzied beats of a racing pulse.

He was near mesmerized by it, missing the resolve in her posture as she finally deigned to join the conversation.

"You're curious," and the observation slammed into him, "aren't you? You're curious about what she did. What she meant when she said it was necessary."

He turned it back on Lovegood. "Aren't you?"

A nonchalant shrug of the shoulders before she took her own step forward, slipping the book from his limp grasp. "I was, until I remembered that long before humans invented ethics and the neat dichotomy that dictates the living, magic existed without labels and so- who's to say it's good or bad? In the end, it could very well be just necessary."

Their eyes locked, challenging meeting curious, and Theo thought back to another time where she stepped up to him exactly like this.

Speaking danger.

Revealing truths.

Her whisky-laced honesty back then had been tempting, logical even but he of all people knew that humans thrived much more in irrationality. It literally drove the dynamics of his relationship with his father.

But hearing her now, Lovegood's thoughts were like siren song as they lured him closer to some impossible precipice. He jumped off the edge to the rocky death below.

Theo mused, "You never told me about your mother."

Lovegood stiffened exactly like her father had, before melting back to nonchalance. She swung away from him and moved towards her paint-splattered desk, laying the journal precisely against the top right corner.

"I did," she said, moreso to the wall than his person. Theo smiled a bit viciously at her discomfort and felt for once he had her exactly where he wanted her. Soundlessly he moved across her floor with the intention to box her in.

"Not really," he retorted. Her pale fingers gripped the edge of her desk.

"My friends don't even know," and the whispered confession was as sweet as the gardenia scent wafting from her hair.

As close as he was now, Theo whispered, "Maybe it isn't something you tell your friends."

The words seemed to snap something in Lovegood as she curled her nails into the worn wood, as if grasping at the last shreds of her congeniality, before quickly releasing the anchor entirely. She turned, uncaring in the way her body touched various sections of his.

Challenge radiated off her face again as she delicately raised her eyebrows.

"Are we sharing stories about our parents now, Theodore?"

Unconsciously, he gripped her upper arms and pushed her back against the desk.

"Don't call me that," he hissed, "it's not my name."

She softened.

"Ah." A pause and he braced for the verbal strike, "it doesn't make you your father. A shared name has no influence in that, I would think."

Speaking danger, revealing truths.

No fucking regard for personal boundaries.

Theo gripped her harder and found the bare skin warm, soft, pliant. "You don't know what you're talking about."

Her muscles flexed under his fingers, pulsing disagreement. "You forget I met the man, Theo. You're nothing alike because you decided it."

The utter veracity of that statement left his knees buckling, left his hands to fall hard on the wood of the desk until his forehead dipped into the perfectly shaped curve of her shoulder. She cradled him there, her hands braced next to his, until the truth fully sunk in.

It was something he both embraced and resisted because although her words tempted with their tone of liberation, they were still "her" words. _Her _evaluation. And Theo was finding himself fast annoyed by the font of knowledge Luna Lovegood had turned out to be for everyone except herself.

Recovered and refocused, he lifted himself from her shoulder and decided to just get the fuck on with it.

"When am I going to learn something about you for a change?" He half demanded.

Lovegood pointedly turned her eyes to her mural.

"When I could trust you with those things, Theo."

He sighed, taking the concession for what it was.

"Fair enough."

oOo

So Theo then showed up nearly every day after luncheon, even sooner in the day if he couldn't stand the loneliness. Sometimes he'd bring books from his personal library and they would spend hours in lounge chairs as they read their way through them.

Other times, he'd show up empty-handed only to be pulled into some half-cocked task of Xenophilius' where by the time he was done, Theo would be covered with ink from Xeno's printing press and reluctant satisfaction.

Then there were other times- his favorite if he were being honest, a trait that he attempted to repress fiercely- when he and Luna would wander the grassy stretches of the estate and just talk.

It was in these moments he decided she must be referred to as Luna, since she had continued with the use of Theo.

Such an afternoon found them strolling through the grass with the house a mere pinprick in the distance. Luna's hands were out in front of her, mummy-like, as they talked about inane little things- the things to look forward to in 6th year transfiguration, for example, and why pudding is the best dessert, a fact which the girl was _emphatic _about. She defended her position staunchly, on top of some imaginary soapbox as she listed off an infinite list on pudding's all-around perfection; then she suddenly stopped. Luna's voice cut off and her feet planted as her hands contracted against something apparently both invisible and solid to which Theo observed with a raised eyebrow.

"The Weasley wards," she answered. Luna dropped her hands as he raised his. "I wouldn't if I were you," she warned. "I think the wards recognize me as a neighbor but there's no knowing how they would lash out at you."

Theo dropped his hands as well, studying the invisible barrier.

"Why do they need all those wards?"

She flicked a glance, pausing too long, and Theo knew without a bloody doubt that her next words were a diversion.

"They're blood traitors," she said in a tone that meant to dismiss the conversation but Theo refused to be dissuaded.

He'd spent day after day at this bat-shit crazy house that somehow felt more normal than his own home and in that time he'd endured Xeno's talk of invisible creatures and Luna's summery scent and honestly, how the fuck was he supposed to earn trust if she wouldn't entrust him with anything in the first place?

She twirled on her tiptoes in the direction of her home, presumably for tea, and Theo trailed her so he could catch her fingers on the backswing.

They startled as he came even with her, eyes wide as they took in his easy expression. Because it was easy indeed, taking her hand.

Too easy, probably. So he moved to tuck her small fingers in the crook of his elbow like any Pureblood gentleman would do.

"See?" He tried assuring. "I'm like everyone else, right?"

"No," she said slowly as the 'o' rounded her lips, "you aren't," and the straight-forwardness of her words, despite their timidity, twisted his insides in a way he couldn't explain.

They walked along in silence after that, the house growing larger the more they trod along. He felt her fingers trace atop the cool satin of his shirt, as restless as her father, and the constant movement was soothing- something he didn't fully appreciate until she suddenly stopped.

"The Weasley wedding is in a few weeks."

He waited for elaboration which of course she did not provide so he prompted with a gentle, "Mm?"

"Family and friends are invited." At this she shot a pointed look at him. "Neighbors too."

Another pause as if she were dropping breadcrumbs and waited for him to catch up.

_Family and friends, _he considered. _Granger? That was obvious from the journal entry… could Draco, as well?_

Anticipation swelled painfully in his chest before he dwelled on her last statement.

_Neighbors too, she said. As in herself?_

Theo felt stupid as her implication remained out of reach. He really wished she could be as direct and cutting as when she was personally slicing him to ribbons.

"Okay," he tried, and the word canted up to the sky as it tried to reach the point of the conversation.

Finally he asked, "Are you going?"

Luna smiled, self-satisfied. "Yes. Would you?"

The question stole Theo's last functioning brain cell. Inarticulation tumbled from his mouth. "Wait- what?"

"We'd have to disguise you, of course. I don't think the Weasleys would appreciate your presence. They're not very trusting at the moment." He pulled Luna to a stop a dozen meters from the house and stared at her with open mouth and blank eyes.

"You can then see everyone," she enunciated.

A multitude of emotions collided inside of him- shock and awe and a belated comprehension with a real gentle sort of gratitude, so subtle that he wasn't even sure if he was deciphering it right- and Theo kept on staring at this girl who was both labyrinth and lodestar.

And utterly fucking ludicrous all the same.

He needed time to digest this and so he muttered a non committal 'thank you', reversing his direction even as she shouted an offer to tea.

_No tea. No talk. No bloody thank you._

oOo

The next time Theo showed up at the Lovegood estate, two days later to be precise, he was greeted by an entirely new scenario- rejection.

Rain fell hard from an afternoon sky darkened by thunderclouds. He knocked on the door only to be greeted by a disappointed Xeno.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Night," he said with a sad shake of his head, "but Luna's not up for visitors today."

Xeno shut the door without further explanation and Theo fell slump on the top step of the house, getting drenched by a storm he entirely forgot to shield himself from.

oOo

The storm blew through. Theo waited it out in the isolation of his bedroom, crying sick to the house elves so his father would leave him be with his conflicting thoughts. The past fortnight spent with the Lovegoods seemed successful, in his estimation. He got along surprisingly well with the blond pair which was either an alarming analysis of his own sanity, or testament of his aptitude handling high-maintenance blondes.

Either way, Theo felt he made headway with them, especially Luna. He also felt largely content- an emotion that typically only surfaced when he was far and away from his father's grasp.

He _thought_ Luna felt the same. He _thought_ they found a rhythm to their coexistence, a give-and-take that benefitted both parties.

Better yet, he thought a tentative trust had been offered and Theo left that day feeling like he was holding the fragilest of glass that needed cushioning and security and respect. All of which he was eager to provide.

But then Xeno turned him away. She denied and rejected him- Theodore Nott, Mr. Charismatic. So bewildered by the feeling, he didn't leave the Lovegoods until he was soaked and shivering.

The storm blew through, though, along with all those conflicting emotions and Theo was now more than ready to return to the Lovegoods and get his overdue explanation. Without further agonizing, he apparated to their grassy hillside. Every window burst with warm light, aglow like some beacon for lost travelers.

Theo pressed towards it.

Anxiously, he rapped his knuckles on the door, holding his breath as Xeno greeted him from the other side.

"She's in her room, Mr. Night," and Xeno waved in the direction of the stairs, already immersed again in his book. Theo had to wonder how the man managed to keep Luna alive and safe all these years if he was willing to wave any stranger- and a male at that- right into the haven of their home.

It was wartime, for Slytherin's sake. Even a blowhard like himself could attest to Moody's "constant vigilance" during a time like this.

Theo knocked again, this time on Luna's door. Almost hesitantly, she pulled it open.

"Hello," she said, her tiny frame blocking the entrance of her room.

He nodded at her stiffly. Unsure. The familiarity built between them during the past few weeks all but vanished and he had not a clue why.

But he was sure as fuck going to find out.

Theo took a half step closer to her and caught the wary shift in her daybreak gray gaze. It darted around a face he tried to keep open and endearing; eventually, Luna capitulated and allowed him entry.

Instantly his eyes went up to the ceiling to find Neville's portrait complete. That didn't bother him _at all. _

"How are you?" He asked, whirling back to her.

"I need to talk to you." Her voice carried right over his ingrained etiquette, shoving the nicety aside to make room for a dark kind of urgency.

"It's about your father."

_Well. Screw etiquette._

"What the fuck could you have to say about my father." Theo said lowly and it wasn't even pitched as a question.

It was statement. Fact. Luna Lovegood was the complete antithesis of his father, so far and away that the very thought of him should taint her.

She remained unmoved by Theo's sudden vitriol and the menacing way he pressed her toward the wall. Her body hit the **wall**. She kept on talking, intractable to his darkening mood.

"You-Know-Who can sense that he lost his connection to Draco. He wants answers, he demands them. Your father will bring you to him, Theo, I think as an offering or appeasement. Maybe the hope of knowledge."

Her voice cracked on that word as she vied for an air of stability- a poor attempt at such as he had already noted the tremors in her hands, the concern in a too-transparent face and the anger coursed through him like fiendfyre.

"Fucking hell, Lovegood," he raged as the chant of _I don't believe you _beat in his head, bursting for escape. "How do you know this?"

Her face all at once turned detached as she inhaled another fortifying breath. Her back was ramrod straight against the wall as Theo crowded her but she didn't look intimidated. Only serious.

"I Saw it."

Theo's hands came down hard on her shoulders. Her teeth chattered on impact.

"Salazar, where? Did you fucking spy on them? Are you working with Granger's lot?"

He shook her with every question spewing from his mouth and her back kept softly smacking the wall behind her… thud, thud, thud… but he was too fucking angry to gentle his grip.

Theo knew his fingers would leave bruises on her pristine skin as he squeezed even harder through her lengthening silence, trying to force the answers from her pursed lips.

Then she gave him exactly what he did and did not want.

"No, Theo," she urged, the conviction fanning across his face. "I Saw it, as a Seer would. Because that's what I am."

* * *

**A/N: The last of my graduates finished up today which in alternative education, is a big deal. So what better way for me to celebrate than to post this chapter! I hope you have enjoyed it so far. I appreciate every follow, favorite, and review- know that once school wraps up in a week that I plan on pouring lots and lots of time into this story which can only hopefully turn into lots and lots of updates! **


	6. The Taste of Crow

**A/N: I'm beyond sorry with how long this update took. The chapter was ready to go last week but parenting and all that reality mumbo-jumbo... also, chapter 8 was a veritable BATTLE. It's still not written but I will continue to attempt to stick to a bi-weekly update. I appreciate all those views, those follows, those favorites. The reviews bring joy to my soul. Now, enjoy!**

* * *

**The Taste of Crow**

Luna was in turmoil. Although Theo had dropped his hands from her shoulders upon hearing her confession, she still felt him everywhere. Her skin sung at the contact and it now throbbed at the absence of him.

He towered over her, vibrating from anger and quite a bit of fear, and turmoil turned to despair. She knew he didn't believe her, that he wouldn't, but decency propelled Luna to divulge the most vulnerable part of herself to an almost-stranger. An almost-friend.

She might as well have handed over her heart to the nearest passerby. It was pretty clear she cared naught about its welfare.

Looking at Theo now, Luna attempted to untangle the meticulous case she planned to lay at his feet as proof of her claim, but his once-familiar eyes now closed her out.

No entry. Turn back.

The words fluttered with her heartbeat in her throat. Luna forced them up and out, trading eloquence for honesty. "It's true. I Saw Draco's runes right after I read Hermione's entry. It's how I knew what they were and that they had to do with Draco, presumably his Mark. And I Saw this too."

_Believe it, _her mind screamed.

_It's the truth, _urged her heart.

The blue of Theo's eyes flickered with intrigue for only a moment but then cynicism clouded it over. His movements now stiffened with formality, he stepped away. Luna willed her legs to hold her up even as he spoke his cruelest observation yet.

"You really are loony." Theo's voice faded off into some sort of reflective mumble, the way one would speak of a creature newly discovered.

Luna crumpled now that only the wall held her up.

Theo left the room.

Her father served dinner on a tray beside her while vaguely patting her head.

oOo

Theo returned home in a daze. One of the elves greeted him at the door- like he was a bloody guest in his own house- and informed him he was late for dinner.

Immediately, the whirlwind of new information abated. All thoughts of Lovegood disappeared as Theo reoriented himself to the situation at hand, which was a dire one at that. His father _abhorred _a lapse in etiquette.

Other than fucking legacy, it was the one thing that separated them- as in Purebloods- from the animals- as in anyone who wasn't a Pureblood. Theo knew this intimately because it had been beaten into him from a young age.

Literally so.

Hands trembling, Theo rushed down the halls of the main floor before stopping shy of the closed dining room doors. He stretched out one hand to grip the antique knob- the iron felt warm, as if someone recently grasped it. Theo swallowed hard and pressed forward.

The doors opened onto a familiar scene- the ostentatious room lit by bronzed sconces equally spaced on the wall, supplemented by a dearth of pure white candles on the table. Every seat was set with crystal and china from one end to the other, where his father sat.

With Bellatrix fucking Lestrange.

Theo's pace stuttered for a moment, then he headed to his usual seat with Nott Sr at the head, Theo on his left…

And Bellatrix fucking Lestrange seated on his father's right.

_Someone was going to die tonight._

"Father," Theo greeted. His hands flexed under the table and then balled into fists, the feel of anger warm in the confines of his fingers. Nott Sr smiled thinly at his son and Theo knew he was in trouble.

Clearing his throat, Theo attempted to direct the conversation away from whatever sadistic intent curled his father's lips. "I didn't realize congratulations were in order. Is this your new bride?"

The spurious question rang ridiculous in the silent air; yet, the ensuing echo of Theo's words bounced back his true intent.

_Do you have any fucking integrity?_

_Do you really allow that bitch to sit in __her__ seat?_

His mouth couldn't, wouldn't form the accusations but his eyes bore into his father's shamelessly, spelling out the message in their navy depths.

Nott Sr huffed a dry, soundless laugh, his mouth rounded with sick amusement. Bellatrix leaned across the table, cackling, as her bosom spilled from her black corset dress.

"Your father couldn't handle me, baby Theodore," Bellatrix cooed. She propped her head up on deadly fingers. "Do you think you could?"

The challenge, so teasingly thrown, curdled Theo's stomach as he didn't miss the implication of her words. Ignoring the dread, he strived for his usual irreverent demeanor.

"I'm flattered," he demurred, pushing back on two legs of the chair. His lack of robes left him nimble as he balanced languidly, and the action caught Bellatrix' attention long enough for Theo to wrap his thumb around his wand peeking from his sleeve.

His father, however, was not distracted and least of all, entertained.

"Enough with the theatrics." Nott Sr pushed back from his seat, the voluminous black Death Eater robes folding on itself as the man crossed his arms. "It's time to earn the Nott name," and Theo couldn't help but mutter from the side of his mouth, "Must I?"

"THEODORE!" His father's roar rattled the china. Taking her cue, Bellatrix stood to echo his father's pose and Theo felt his heart jump into his throat. The legs of the chair felt like the only steady thing in the room as two seasoned Death Eaters started to round the table.

Bellatrix lagged behind his father like a shadow and said, "The Dark Lord calls, baby Theodore. And he will not be denied."

Inevitability coated Theo's tongue as he spared a single moment to Luna, the insufferable wench, who heralded this scenario, who had been incredibly right less than an hour ago.

Pushing past the cruel certitude of the present, Theo managed to ask, "What does he want?"

But he already knew. Because she did.

Nott Sr loomed within arms' reach now and seethed with impatience for his constantly defiant heir. It seemed the time for questions was long past.

"Draco," the man hissed. "And if not him, a replacement."

Theo knew with absolute certainty that would not be him. Or else, true to his word, someone would die tonight. It's not like his father hadn't taught him how.

He stared at this man who was more stranger than kin and focused on the deft sliding of his wand into his palm as his arms hung loose on his sides. Then, he fiercely shot a wordless spell in the Death Eaters' direction; thick smoke poured from the tip, eating up the visibility in the space.

A muttered invocation to Salazar.

The there-and-gone-again brush of Nott Sr's fingers as Theo let his chair cascade backwards.

He disapparated before it even hit the ground.

_-Somewhere in Diagon Alley-_

Theo felt like a fucking idiot as he stood in some unfamiliar yet fashionable section of Diagon Alley, his left leg bleeding all over the cobblestone. He evidently did nothing by halves as he quickly assessed the sizable splinch. A part of his brain, high on adrenaline, absurdly mourned the lost section of his leg. The rest of him that retained rationality, however…

_Get it together, arsehole, before you bleed out in Wizarding London._

Theo stared up at the stone townhouse, identical to about a dozen that lined the street. An intricate rod iron fence boxed off the lot from the walkway; with effort, Theo limped through the gate and up the steps to the door.

When Blaise entered his mind in the seconds he hurtled towards the ground at the Manor, Theo wasn't really sure if all-consuming thoughts of a person would produce a location. He hadn't known where Blaise lived, having never visited him outside of school during the span of their friendship.

He didn't even entertain the idea during his cascade toward escape of how a continental jump during disapparition would have splinched him into fleshy sprinkles.

Theo had thought of Blaise. Only Blaise. And hoped his split-second decision wouldn't get him killed. He started trembling as he glanced down at his trousers, soaked through with blood.

_Killed? No. But quite possibly maimed._

He rapped three times and hoped again.

Silence on the other end.

Theo gripped his wand hard. His back grew stiff against the vulnerable open space of the walkway, where anyone could pop into existence and Avada him from behind.

Theo rapped harder. _Would it be catastrophic to try and disapparate again?_

The numbing sensation spreading up his leg strongly suggested that catastrophic would indeed be the result. _Come on Blaise. I fucking need you._

And then his friend appeared like a manifested wish, the inky black of Blaise's face going gray as he wrenched the door open and found Theo struggling to stand. Blaise caught him as his legs finally gave out. He dragged him into the parlor and laid Theo out on the floor which, _of course, _was laid with exquisite black and white interlocking Italian marble tiles.

After Blaise slammed the door he yelled for an elf.

"Find me dittany. Blood replenishing potion," Blaise switched to a gentle mutter of 'diffindo' against the fabric of Theo's trouser, cutting away the left side to better expose the splinch. The dark man sucked in a breath at what lay beneath and shakily he amended, "Several blood replenishing potions. Now!"

The elf, wide-eyed, disappeared. Blaise stripped out of his waistcoat, then Oxford, using the latter like a fabric safeguard against Theo's wound. Blaise pressed hard, ever silent, tense. Theo attempted a joke. "Don't want me ruining any of your fancy Persian carpets, then?"

Lips tight with stress, Blaise only pressed harder which caused Theo to curse.

"Fuck! Blaise!" The name was wrenched out of Theo on an unwilling groan, twisting under the weight of desperation that threatened to suffocate him.

He'd found Blaise, yes, but the adrenaline from the escape and subsequent injury was fast draining from his system, and it was leaving behind only stark reality.

Theo found Blaise but he lost everything else.

Eyes falling closed, he tumbled into the pain as it spread like a fever from his leg, as it consumed his chest cavity, and the heat of it cleared out every delusion and expectation that had pieced together Theo's facade for the whole of his life.

He was a phoenix, set to rise from the ashes.

Needle pricks of sensation poked through the numbness of his injury, and his reverie, so Theo opened his eyes to discover the elf had come back; Blaise was applying the dittany with movements borne out of rash worry and the liquid poured from the vial in a waterfall.

But the skin started to knit with every drop.

Blaise moved to Theo's head, propping it up gently on his pants now stained with Theo's blood.

"Drink," Blaise clipped and he held the potion to Theo's lips. Its effects spread quickly and after only a few minutes, Theo felt stable enough to sit up. His mate braced him with a hand on his shoulder the grip of which pulsed comfort, security. It also reminded Theo that these assurances could only be temporary.

He shifted his gaze to Blaise to find his friend's eyes dark with anger. They narrowed on Theo in a way that spelt out poorly repressed fear which, unfortunately, Theo was about to exacerbate.

"It's not safe here for me," he stated. Blaise's hand spasmed.

"Why?"

The question opened up a chasm between them, full of all the dark dangerous details that could swallow the two of them whole but Theo refused to let that happen.

Blaise saved him and he intended to repay the favor.

"It wouldn't be safe for you to know," he admitted before struggling onto his feet. Blaise kept hold of Theo and the hand that previously felt like haven turned constricting, alluding to Theo it was past time to go.

"Trust me," Theo urged into the tense space. "I will tell you everything but for now you need to trust me."

Blaise remained unmoved, his grip iron-hard. His fathomless stare bore into Theo as if he could see the suppressed secrets sitting quietly under the skin. When the silence stretched thin, Blaise stubbornly lifted the second blood replenishing potion.

Theo kicked it back with a good dose of panic chasing the liquid down his throat.

He ran from Nott Sr. And Bellatrix fucking Lestrange.

He defied the direct order of Voldemort.

Repercussions were imminent. Inevitable.

There was no bloody time. The second potion, having infused Theo with new strength, allowed him to maneuver himself free of Blaise's grasp. Quickly he pointed his wand at his friend's face. Blaise froze.

"You need to trust me," Theo reiterated, a terrible hazy plan taking shape in his mind with every second that ticked past. His words dripped such severity that Blaise slowly paled.

"You need to trust me to obliviate you so there's no evidence of me being here." Theo's voice bowed under the immense weight of 'obliviate', knowing the responsibility that came with the word, with its intention.

All of which Theo would gladly carry in order to keep Blaise safe.

"I promise I'll tell you after," Theo stuttered as the urgency of the situation pressed to the forefront, blocking out all poise and all reason, "I swear on my magic, Blaise."

Blaise took two long strides forward until the tip of Theo's wand indented his forehead.

"Will you be safe?" Blaise asked.

Thinking of his next stop, and of the inhabitants he was choosing to trust his life with, Theo couldn't help but respond with a wry, "Safe is a relative word."

The rare moment of impudence on Theo's part seemed to be enough to convince Blaise as he nodded his assent, tacit trust clear in his eyes. Theo mouthed the words 'thank you', unable to get them past the appreciation blocking his throat.

Then, after a hard swallow, he intoned, "Obliviate."

oOo

Luna kept getting Ginny's eyes wrong. She squinted at them from her position on the levitating mattress, a place she hardly strayed from over the past 24 hours. Wand in hand, Luna cast a 'tergeo' in a quick little rhythm and she watched as her third attempt at Ginny's eyes sifted away from the ceiling.

Flecks of blended paint fell onto Luna's shirt and tinted her a navy blue. It was too dark a color for Ginny, or any Weasley for that matter.

It was just right for someone else, though.

Luna sighed then dropped the supplies on the comforter next to her. Painting usually served as an effective distraction, a dampener on her overactive mind.

Everything grew quiet with brush in hand.

Yet this time the quiet was causing more harm than good; Luna may have been able to finally suppress the more painful details of her last conversation with Theo but even so, his eyes continued to swim to the forefront.

Dark blue, rimmed with black, like the threshold of night. Everything to know about Theo Nott could be found in the stark vastness of his eyes and Luna wanted to know it.

Very, very much.

Even the disquiet and uncertainty that kept her from initially trusting Theo, that had her obsessing over the people on her ceiling as her only confidences, those thrums of caution had melted away in the summer heat. Then it evaporated instantly at the vision of Theo's fate.

Luna's breath backed up in her throat, made it burn, so she quelled the Sisyphean tread of her thoughts. Nothing productive came from worrying, a fact she was growing tired of drilling into her head.

She picked up her brush, ignoring how the statement still didn't chase the feeling from her chest. She ran the bristles through blue and swirled it with white until the cloudless clime of summer met her stare.

Until Ginny's eyes were well and truly unveiled.

With a practiced hand, Luna dabbed them into existence on the ceiling, not at all appeased. The feeling morphed quickly to agitation when she heard the muffled calling of her father's voice.

She was quite beyond having to fake an appetite.

The calling turned clearer and louder as it was now being magically amplified. "Luna bug, come down! I've made your favorite."

She steeled herself against her father's lure as she was far too temperamental to even enjoy ratatouille with béarnaise sauce. For once, Luna wanted to sulk like a proper adolescent.

_Was that really too much to ask?_

The next shout from her father came straight through the walls, startling Luna so much that she accidentally dropped the levitation spell…

"Luna Pandora Lovegood, you come down to dinner at once!"

…and the mattress crashed back into its frame.

The paintbrush hit her in the face just as her wand rolled off the bed. Thankfully, the palette of blended paints hovered only for a moment during the fall before settling back on Luna's torso. Muttering about pushy patriarchal figures, she slogged through tidying up the mess from her unexpected fall then, the agitation bubbling over, she stomped past her wand to descend the stairs in all her disheveled glory.

Her father wanted her for dinner "at once"? Fine. Then he could have her, paint and all.

Immediately, Luna regretted that decision when she reached the bottom of the stairs. Theodore Nott stood in the kitchen with her father, clutching a humongous toffee pudding.

"Hey Lovegood," he greeted, his voice a far cry from its usual geniality. "I brought pudding."

Luna remained rooted to the bottom step, intensely aware of the paint smeared on her right cheek. An uncomfortable thrum of embarrassment built in her face, hot like an overdone warming charm, but beyond that was a deeper, less tangible reaction that didn't show on her cheeks but burned all the same.

Betrayal wasn't a regular bedfellow for Luna, who typically only indulged in a handful of friends, but the feeling was there and present now and she hated that she was feeling it over _him _of all people.

"Come, Luna. The ratatouille's getting cold," and her father turned away from the pair to serve up the peasant dish, a fact that had her turning redder now that the meal was to be shared with a Pureblood elitist.

Theo. Theodore Nott.

Luna looked to him then, and found the blue eyes she'd been longing for darkened by wariness… and guilt. The latter sliced through her as a reminder of what he did, what he said just a short 24 hours ago. Tentatively, she backtracked up the stairs a step; Theo's expression turned suddenly frantic as his mouth dropped open into a silent 'o' and his eyes- that wretched blue again- arrested Luna's movement with the outright fear that glittered there.

At this point, the table was set. Her father turned around, somehow oblivious to the undercurrents swirling in the air. "Come Luna. No need to tidy up, dear." He bunched up his ruffled cooking apron as he spoke before taking a seat.

"Mr. Night knows you well enough by now," and, with unintentional insult delivered, her father dug into dinner.

In the end, Luna's curiosity over Theo's atypical disposition propelled her fully down the stairs. She took her usual seat, which Theo pulled out for her. Then he finally deposited the ridiculously sized pudding on the counter before taking the only other seat at the table.

A seat that's been empty for nearly half of Luna's life.

Her chest remained hollow, strangely absent of any pang of protest or echoing hurt, and in that moment Luna believed that her mother would actually approve Theo of all people to take her spot.

Luna wasn't sure why, but she thought it to be true. She started to fork pieces of the tender, now-lukewarm ratatouille into her mouth, eyes surreptitiously intent on Theo as he made meticulous, little cuts into his gratin.

One bite and his eyes widened. "This is excellent, Mr. Lovegood," he complimented quite demurely. The tone sounded too proper coming out of the likes of his snarky mouth. Luna hated it and wondered what it would take to bring back the droll curl to Theo's lips.

She oh-so-wanted to scrutinize that look again, until it was tattooed on the back of her eyelids.

Her father, having finally finished his bite, replied. "Thank you, son," the innocuous phrasing shot a spasm of emotion across Theo's face, "but the compliment should be Luna's. She grew the vegetables."

Returned to polite aloofness, Theo turned an inquiring gaze on Luna which had her skin prickling.

"I'm not really a dab hand," she admitted into her plate, "but after talking with Neville, it seems to come naturally." Luna looked up through her eyelashes and saw Theo's lips purse at that.

_Interesting._

"Is something wrong with your meal?" Luna prodded in reference to his expression. Theo shook his head quickly before doing a little prodding of his own.

"So, are you close with Longbottom then?"

_Very interesting._

Luna focused exclusively on that, instead of the hammering heartbeat in her chest. She could rely on her intelligence any day of the week but her emotions?

They eluded her like smoke, obscuring her perspective one moment and then clearing away to show she was seeing it all wrong in the next.

Luna _did not _want to be wrong about Theo and his strangely subtle signs of jealousy.

The side of her mouth lifted, mischief an irresistible hook. Luna's answer was a vague "close enough".

Theo remained pensive after that.

Once dinner was finished, and as her father served up the dessert, Luna's curiosity reached its breaking point.

"Daddy, is it alright if we eat pudding in my room?" Her father smiled fondly at the pair of them and handed over the plates, spoons, and his seemingly naive approval of Theo being alone and unsupervised in Luna's room.

At night.

Her stomach might have just turned over at the thought as Theo carried the no-longer-appetizing pudding up to her space.

Once they were ensconced behind the door, Luna retrieved her wand and discreetly disappeared the paint from her cheek. She turned around and found Theo's eyes on her, consuming every visible inch as if _she_ were the dessert.

Mustering up some bravado, Luna tried to recalibrate. To remember that she was still angry with him. That she couldn't be aroused… and really- why was it that this particularly infuriating boy was arousing to begin with?

She threw the sentiment aside. "What are you doing here?" Luna crossed her arms in a fair impression of Hermione, tone snappish and all, which worked to break Theo from his staring.

"I…" he tapered off. His mouth opened and closed like a fish, a void of space between them which he could be filling up with charm and witty turns of phrase but instead, left aggravatingly empty. A disappointment, if she were being honest...which she intended to be.

Luna looked at the forgotten pudding clutched in each one of his hands, what she believed was Theo's attempt at a peace offering, as it listed dangerously toward the plate's rim. For a moment, she wavered in that honesty.

The boy in front of her was not Theo Nott. This was a collage of shattered delusions pasted together with the veneer of etiquette, broken pieces of a once-irreverent boy jammed up against the newly-forming cynicisms of manhood.

This was not the Theo Nott Luna knew and the observation caught her unawares, like an unexpected Stupefy to the chest, until it pressed on her so hard she felt unable to breathe.

Her next question was forced out of her by the tremendous weight that sat on her sternum. "What happened?"

Theo's mouth clicked shut, lip curling. "You know," and the bitterness of the statement pursed Luna's cheeks. She gustily exhaled the taste of Theo's resentment as she attempted to keep composed.

"Tell me anyway." Luna then sat on the floor and gestured for her share of pudding. It took him an age but Theo eventually caved and came across the room, sitting next to Luna. His pudding remained untouched.

Turning in on himself, he started his story in a low, defeated tone.

"I went home and by the time I got there, I was late for dinner. So I rushed to the dining room to find not only my-" his throat gurgled around the words, "not only Nott Sr. but also Bellatrix."

This detail stayed Luna's hand halfway to her mouth. She knew this name and it jangled around her head, loosening memories long repressed.

A single tear trail down Neville's cheek as he stared at a picture of his parents.

The Ministry battle as her spell knocked Harry's godfather into the veil.

Medusa curls and her cackling, crystal-cut shouts of joy as she clutched her death stick.

Luna brought the fork the rest of the way to her mouth. The pudding tasted like cardboard.

Theo continued. "I went about like things were normal until my- _Nott Sr._" he grounded this between his teeth as if he could make the moniker stick, "got impatient. He told me about Voldemort, about how I was next in line."

Sympathy swelled in Luna so she put down her half-finished dessert, her hands palm up on the ground between herself and Theo. He stared right through the offer for support, completely occupied by the story as it replayed in his mind.

"I fled after that. Disapparated straight from my falling chair."

"Where did you go?" Luna asked, curbing the unseemly hurt that flared in her chest when he didn't go to her first.

His eyes reconnected with hers. "Blaise."

The word somehow unlocked him as the remainder of the story flowed uninterrupted from his tongue. "I didn't know where Blaise lived. I just thought of him, fiercely, and landed at his mother's townhouse with a nasty splinch. He was home, thank Merlin, and patched me up. Then I obliviated him."

Theo's face crumpled in anguish. Abandoning her timidity, Luna leaned forward to take hold of one of his clammy, trembling hands. A soothing hum vibrated in her throat, cradled the confession against the unforgiving silence, then she finally said, "It's okay. You did what was necessary."

His hands curled into defensive claws and his nails pressed painfully into her skin.

"That doesn't make it right," Theo gritted.

She smiled sadly, tipped up his chin with her free hand. "It also doesn't make it wrong."

Eventually, Theo blinked away the cloud of reminiscence and with it, all visible despair.

Eventually, the skin turned back to smooth, his eyes flat, his lips unquestionably straight and the picture he cut was so sharp that Luna backed away. Afraid of being cut.

She folded her knees into her chest, held them tight. The space turned vast between them once more, nearly untraversable, which ignited a flare of panic in her chest. It unfurled like the break of day, stretching its fingers outward, shedding light on all the doubts that crowded in the space between Luna and Theo.

She thought of the way he dismissed her after the Vision. The descriptor 'loony' rolling off his tongue like poison.

She thought of the Theo that has since returned. Hardened by reality. Carved with the scalpel Luna herself handed him.

Did he resent her now? Hold her responsible in some way for what happened to him? Luna's thoughts wandered away from Theo and to another man entirely- her father- as new understanding dawned.

It made sense now why he didn't speak of Luna's mother, his wife, the Seer. It wasn't wise to breathe existence into such a portent of knowledge, even a dead one. You never know what would come to life if you did.

Luna tightened her grip on her legs, trying to keep the internal crisis contained, but Theo ever the observer, caught the shift. Held it. Tried to unravel it by its loose ends.

His stare turned intense as Theo studied Luna, the blue of his eyes less cutting and more cajoling as he tried to figure out her crouched position and vulnerable eyes. He clearly found what he was after in her quivering gray irises.

"Luna," he called, he coaxed. Her name sounded too familiar on his tongue. She hated how she craved to hear the way it rolled around in his mouth, like a toffee being savored. Luna stared past Theo, frozen in fear. She didn't want to answer, didn't want to curse him with more of her words.

He edged a bit closer and turned his eyes to the floor. In an undertone, he reflected, "I don't know what would have happened to me if I wasn't warned."

The observation was dropped like a pebble into the distance and doubt that still separated them, its gentle concession soon rippling outward. Luna felt the vibrations of it lap at her feet. The tension slowly bleeding out from the point of contact, she returned her still-wary gaze to Theo.

"I have nowhere else to go." His eyes were blown wide with the insistence of his apology, tucked in the spaces between the words he actually said.

_The closest any Slytherin would come to apology, I imagine._

It took Luna an eternity but she eventually gathered together the vulnerable bits of herself and threw them in the back of her mind. She brushed off the remaining, weakened doubts. Her body relaxed into a crossed leg position and with her now unoccupied hand, Luna grabbed her wand that lay on the ground beside her.

She flicked it and accioed sheets from her dresser, an extra blanket from a cedar chest. Then, infusing forgiveness in her gaze, she replied.

"But you do."


	7. The Weasley Wedding

**The Weasley Wedding**

Draco stood perfectly straight while his girlfriend trained her wand on his face. As comfortable as he was with Hermione's control over magic- she had, on a number of occasions pointed her wand to various locations of his body- Draco really didn't need her fucking up this glamour.

Besides, he was far too preoccupied with battling the dread solidifying in his stomach. He wanted desperately to chalk it up to the mere fact that he hadn't stepped foot out of the Tonks' household in 15 weeks… but Draco turned in the sweet bliss of ignorance for a moral compass and that fucking thing was pointing straight at imminent danger.

Hermione's face swam into his field of vision, toffee eyes lit with mischief. Tilting her head as she studied him, the lithe column of her neck became exposed, invitingly arched thanks to the muggle style of dress she had opted to wear.

Unwillingly, Draco's eyes drifted down to take in the whole effect, from the 'V' neck halter neckline to the gently flaring lavender fabric at her waist, til it approached her knee.

She shone like twilight and Draco wanted to bask under the view of her.

Preferably naked. Most definitely in this bedroom.

But the dread pulsed protest, tapped truth. He would not get what he wanted tonight.

"So," Hermione cut in, oblivious to the chaos occurring inside of him, "I was thinking glasses. I've always loved a studious sort."

Draco merely arched an eyebrow as she conjured a pair of silver, wire rimmed spectacles. A full blown smirk cut across her face when he refused to take them.

"Ah. Then red head? You know my type…"

Draco's face contorted in horror and he immediately shielded his hair.

"Don't. You. Dare."

She giggled, the sound soft and sweet and searing. She pulled away his hands to reveal his hair once more; then she closed her eyes, murmuring the spell to change the color.

Draco gripped her wand and conjured a mirror to find that she darkened the strands to a chestnut brown shot through with his actual pale gold hue.

He could live with that.

"What about my eyes?" Draco asked, knowing the steel gray to be too conspicuous. Hermione whirled away from him, a blur of bronze and lilac, and then she was back chest-to-chest as she placed the wretched spectacles on his nose. Her fingers delicately curled around the shells of his ears, the pads stroking the sensitive skin there.

Draco refused to shiver. The brush of pleasure jarred strangely against the persistent sense of foreboding, like an out-of-tune piano. He instead scowled at her, the expression both demand and inquiry.

"They reflect whatever eye color of the person you are interacting with. So in the event something happens and they're looking for a description of a tall, dashing brunet, they wouldn't be able to agree on one."

The smugness in Hermione's tone was embedded so deep that Draco indelibly knew that his swot of a girlfriend was spending too much time with Malfoys, for it was the only logical reason for her voice to take on such an infuriatingly arrogant pitch.

She continued. "Plus there are your plain black robes. Every Pureblood snob will be wearing them."

The quip didn't penetrate past Draco's mounting anxiety. It merely bounced off the inflexibly carved solemnity in Draco's stare as he watched Hermione realize humor would no longer serve as a distraction.

Her fingers stroked again in an absent sort of rhythm- their physical contact so regular now that Draco sometimes hardly knew where he ended and she began- before in a soothing tone she said, "It's going to be okay."

He struggled with the platitude that ultimately ran false in his gut.

"I don't think it is," he managed to say. Hermione's hands dropped away from him and the fingers curled slowly into her palms, like she could keep hold of the empty pretenses and save them for later. With effort, she brought a reassuring smile to her face and attempted another distraction.

"You only say that because you have to see Harry and Ron again."

At the somewhat successful attempt, the infamous tic indented his right cheek once, and then twice, for the dimwit duo. Even so, his hand brushed the runes that rose prominently from his skin, like they were the barest of finger holds on a sheer cliffside.

He attempted to match her teasing tone. "Any time spent with those twats is never okay."

Hermione shoved him playfully and then arranged herself next to him, preparing for disapparition. As she moved to grip his hand, Draco uttered fiercely into the quiet, "Don't leave my sight."

Time stopped alongside Hermione who paused before taking his hand. The urgently uttered demand wove around them, pulling the tension tight, and then she was breaking it with her self-assured movements.

Hands gripped, Hermione spun Draco to her, kissed him hard, and disapparated.

oOo

Theo was certain there was no etiquette lesson that prepared for how to approach the current vision that assaulted him. Luna had just descended the stairs in a dress so yellow that it's as if she somehow drained the sun of its hue.

No, not the sun. More like the absurdly bold yellow of sunflowers as the fabric of her bell-shaped dress exactly matched the aforementioned flower which was woven into her hair. The blooms made a half crown that stretched ear to ear.

After a few rapid blinks, Theo's vision adjusted to the unexpected _and yet totally reasonable _dress choice. And taking in her whole figure- from flaxen, flowing curls that even from a distance perfumed the air gardenia, to her delicate feet strapped in gold sandals- Theo felt a bit awed.

Because she was beautiful. Wildly so.

He opened his mouth to tell her.

"You're looking very… yellow." _Huh. Not my finest articulation._

Theo swallowed nervously, intent on trying again and actually conveying the correct combination of words, but she spun off the last step to land right in front of him.

"Daddy says yellow is a more appropriate color for weddings because it brings good luck. So, naturally the sunflowers made sense." She looked at him with an anticipatory air, as if he had an encyclopedic amount of knowledge on flowers and their assigned meanings.

The silence unbearably lengthened, wherein Theo couldn't seem to conjure a phrase any less plebeian than _quite right, _which made him feel like an utter sot… until Luna smiled.

The barely-there one, where just the ends curled with mischief.

Then he felt like a flaming sot.

"You're looking too much like yourself," she observed cheekily, eyes scanning him head-to-toe. He scrambled for equilibrium.

"You mean handsome," he rejoined with an insolent flick of his wrist. _Don't you know who you're speaking to, _it said.

Luna, unruffled, merely held up a potions vial.

"It's Polyjuice," she provided when he didn't move to take it. Theo eyed the golden liquid that looked strangely like the Felix Felicis from last year's potions class.

She waited, patiently and persistently, until Theo finally plucked the vial from her hand in concession.

"How could you even had time to prepare a batch?" He asked disbelievingly; then he kicked the potion back. He felt the unpleasant bubbling of his skin ripple out from his midsection, distorting his frame until he was shorter and a bit fuller.

Luna watched the transformation with abject fascination and this faint but very transparent hunger that slackened her expression for just a moment.

Once he was no longer himself, before he could really translate the strange expression, she snapped back to her typical demeanor and said a bit blithely, "Who wouldn't be prepared for a quick getaway?"

The question was stated, so obvious in its logic, that he was too busy digesting how sweet Luna could show such calculation to even notice when she took his hand. The smile returned, her gray eyes trained on him, when he finally managed to mutter, "You frighten me, Lovegood."

She laughed and disapparated them to the property's edge.

They popped into existence, Xeno already waiting. Theo hastily let go of Luna's hand even though the man was busy conversing with some red-headed bloke that could only be related to the Weasleys. It's like they carried the recessive gene for all gingers in Great Britain.

A snarky observation that was soon shot to shite when Luna traipsed up to the guy and said, "Hi Harry!" And Theo knew with utter fucking certainty she meant Harry Potter- because evidently there was nothing that Luna Lovegood didn't know.

The polyjuiced Harry bumbled at being caught out. "Um. Harry who? I'm Barry," and the _not-at-all _subtle twat looked shiftily first at Xeno and then Theo.

Luckily Luna's father came to his rescue. "Yes, yes. Luna you must have misheard. Barry, meet my daughter Luna and her friend, Mr. Night."

Harry, who was playing Barry, took the wedding invite from Xeno's hand for confirmation before escorting them past the wards. The ceremony was happening outside of a gigantic white tent with chairs for the guests placed in a half moon around a lone wooden pillar.

"How did you know?" Theo muttered under his breath. _How did you bloody know, _he wanted to shout. Luna shrugged one shoulder and only replied, "Energy," which at this point in his time with the Ravenclaw should be predictable enough. The pair settled near two seats, four rows back and Theo watched the guests filter in from all sides of the property by all of the Weasleys. And of course the least likable of the Weasleys had to beeline to Luna and himself the minute they took their seats.

"Hello Luna," Weasley greeted as his eyes unabashedly took in her wardrobe choices. "You've met Barry then?"

Harry-playing-Barry inched towards Weasley, presumably to give him a heads-up on Luna's telekinetic powers but she ruined that quickly.

"Of course I've met Harry," and Luna looked at the pair with the serenest smile on her face. Theo decided it was a lot more fun to watch Luna mind-fuck someone else.

Polyjuiced-Harry only shrugged helplessly at Weasley, already knowing the futility in denying it, so the bastard changed tacks.

"Who's this?" He nodded at Theo.

Luna simply said, "My friend." Weasley's eyes narrowed on Theo who, now that he thought about it really had zero clue what he looked like. After a lengthy assessment of his transfigured form, Weasley stepped into Luna's space. Effectively shutting Theo out.

_Now that won't fucking do._

Theo inched around Ron's back, picking up on his low mutter. "I get not wanting to be alone at a wedding, Luna, but can you trust this guy?"

Theo's heart skipped on the "t" word. His feet slowed as he settled behind Luna, still tall enough to see over her blonde tresses and flower crown, and he waited to hear her answer.

Would it be castigation or salvation?

A breathy laugh escaped her. "Oh Ron. It is possible for me to have friends outside of you Gryffindors."

The tone was light, teasing, a diversion away from something deeper that Theo couldn't put his finger on. Nevertheless, when Ron's mouth opened for another round of unwarranted opinions, Theo moved to bolster her back.

"Don't you have some escorting to do?"

Theo stared, unrelenting in his position behind Luna and Ron stared back, reddening from the anger, until Harry-turned-Barry intervened. Tugging on his dress robe, Harry broke Ron from the stare-down. The two slumped off to assist in the growing line of guests, Theo and Luna left to their intimacy.

It was then in their solitude that he realized Xeno never stayed by their seats and the thought burned a trail into his belly, a pool of possibility. Slowly, Theo brought his lips to the shell of Luna's ear. Her breath thinned out to non-existence.

He considered a moment what to say- some provocative hook, perhaps? Maybe an arrogant observation on her choice of friends… but then, sweet gardenia flooded his nostrils.

So he went with honesty, stripped bare.

"You never answered his question."

Luna stopped breathing entirely. The silence between them deepened, filling their little bubble of intimacy until Theo was chin deep in anticipation, and the people around them still moved unburdened.

They filled seats. They chatted. They bided their time for an entirely different forthcoming momentous occasion while Theo's brain screamed for him to do something. _Anything. _

Then Luna exhaled and the slow release of breath curved her back just so, like a key fitting into the notch of his torso. She felt warm and pliant and fuck, if Theo didn't want to take hold.

Her head turned, gray eyes dark as they latched onto him.

"We'll just have to see," she offered up, a crumb of food for a starving man.

And Theo, clearly having no pride, took what he could get. Backing away, he gestured for her to take her seat before he settled in the one to the right of her. Just then, Xeno returned.

"They'll be starting soon." He took the seat to Luna's left and leaned conspiratorially

into her. "Much obliged you saved our seats. I had to settle a minor misunderstanding with a gentleman over the Hallows."

Utterly devoid of unspoken niceties, Xeno blatantly pointed toward a dark, burly man who now was fully aware he was being gossiped about.

More surprisingly, the bloke was Viktor Krum. He glared in their direction for a few moments before taking a seat directly opposite theirs in the half moon arrangement.

"Your dad knows Viktor Krum?" Theo queried out of the side of his mouth.

"He knows the Hallows," Luna corrected. She pointed, much more discreetly, at a chain draped around her father's neck. A simple pendant roughly resembling a rudimentary eye hung on the end.

One day, Theo would question Luna about these damn Hallows.

One day, when he cared.

For now, he was more concerned about the congregation of witches and wizards filling up the remaining seats; as odd as Krum's appearance was, it had nothing on the handful of part-Veela beauties clustered toward the back, like whispering waifs. Theo's gaze wandered away from the alluring view of ice-pale eyes and colorless hair as it changed to a vibrant menagerie of reds, coppers, and auburns.

Weasleys. Every bloody one of them.

Well, almost every one as the entire group stood together for the groom and presumably his brother who proceeded to take their places by the pillar. The Delacour girl then floated down the aisle that cut the chairs in half. Her dress robes were a lustrous white but Theo's eyes were drawn to the naked look of adoration on her face as she drew nearer to the oldest Weasley.

The look spoke of love, beamed trust, and in some ways was so intimate that Theo had to drop his eyes away. He tuned out the wedding and its long, droning talk of unified magic, togetherness, and the rather relevant, if not chilling, 'til death do us part'.

Instead, he studied the people through his eyelash fringe; several women a few rows ahead of his seat were crying a bit boisterously into handkerchiefs, their shoulders shaking from the overflow of emotion. Theo's nose involuntarily wrinkled in disgust before his gaze moved elsewhere. He saw Weasel next to Harry-slash-Barry and while the latter's profile was slack with longing and a fair bit of awe, all Theo needed to see of Weasel was the stiff back to know his opinion of the ceremony.

It wasn't so long ago, in fact, that the man spat the words that matched his present body language.

"_There's no place for relationships in a war. It's just a weakness the enemy could use against you."_

Theo glanced once more at the couple, entwined by hands and eyes, and thought _yes, I'm too much a realist to consider all that mushy shite work the risk._

Reality was though, much as it pained Theo to admit it, the kissing couple in the center was not the only ones that believed love was worth the risk. He averted his eyes past the now-kissing couple, the raucous applause, until his roving gaze found Hermione in the crowd, her body the picture of grace and her unbound hair the exact opposite.

Theo smiled at the sight, then studied the man beside her. Even with the convincing glamour of brown hair and thin spectacles, Theo knew it was Draco beside her.

No one other than a Malfoy would clap so sedately.

"Let's go meet them," Luna murmured on his left, reminding him that he was not alone. Eagerness swelled in his chest rising to match the fervor in Luna's tone.

As the ceremony concluded, guests started to amble their way into the tent. Night was falling and the white canopy was a beacon in the inky vastness.

Xeno gestured for the pair to follow him, which they did, although Theo's eyes remained trained on the voluminous mass of curls that just entered the tent. They stopped along the way and Xeno made small talk to adults he knew and Theo's wand hand fidgeted with impatience until Luna deftly weaved her fingers through his.

The yellow of her dress whispered against his jet black robes; for a moment, Theo's myopic urgency to find Draco faded to the nethers of his mind as he watched the clash of light and dark. The bold sunflower hue never succumbed to the black and instead, threw light against the dark canvas like a beacon all its own.

When Theo surfaced from the sentimental turn of thoughts, he found Xeno on the move. Luna tugged him along, their pace naturally synced, and he suddenly resented his present setting.

Weddings turned thoughts sickly sweet, on par with the unimpressive cakes they usually served up.

Weddings made things seem possible but in a world preparing for war, Theo knew possible had no part in it.

He disengaged from Luna with a stiff smile as they finally entered the tent. Xeno meandered his way down the receiving line, Luna at his side with a polite closed-lip smile as all the Weasleys greeted them with far too much exuberance to be well-mannered. Theo chose to stand behind the two and take advantage of the human shield they provided, his eyes searching again for that bushy head and bespectacled man.

His gaze snagged on them at the end of the receiving line. The pair was close and cozy as they spoke in low- _dare he say respectable- _tones to Harry/Barry and Ron. A restless itch chased across his skin, chafing against the too-constricting robes, and he took a step toward them because the urge was too strong.

The time apart, too torturous.

Then, over the tumultuous beat of _get to them _in Theo's head, a voice emerged.

"Oh yes. Luna's been so fortunate this summer to have such a constant friend like Mr. Night."

Xeno and Luna turned in perfect sync, like a set of French doors. A gap emerged.

"He recently had come to stay with us for an extended time."

Theo couldn't pull his eyes away from Draco and Hermione who had turned toward him at the idiot blond's raising volume. It didn't matter that the Lovegoods and other assorted Weasleys were in his peripherals, their attention like a spotlight. It didn't matter because Draco's face started to ripple with recognition as the man finished his damning speech.

"Luna said it's something to do with his family."

_Oh fuck._

oOo

Draco thought, as he stood next to Hermione conversing stiffly with the Dimwit Duo, that another torture session with Voldemort would be easier to endure than this.

Since they arrived, Weasel and the ridiculous looking Potter had been less than enthusiastic by his presence. He's learned to take much of this in stride of course- it's not like he oozed delight upon seeing their faces- but this time, the chilly attitude also extended to Hermione.

One third of the Golden Trio.

Their convenient brain-on-legs.

And the observation had Draco's blood boiling.

They sat separate from the red-headed twats during the ceremony, who were up front with the rest of the family, but the minute it concluded Hermione made a beeline for the pair.

Which brought Draco back to the aforementioned torture.

"Do you have a plan, Harry?" Hermione asked in undertones. The question was rebuffed with a narrowing of Chosen one's lips as he pointedly looked at Draco. The blond- _though currently a brunet, wouldn't Theo have a laugh- _just rolled his eyes.

Hermione on the other hand curled her fingers into fists.

"How do you expect me to help if you won't trust me?" Weasel glanced between the two before saying, "Now, 'Mione. It's not that we don't trust you…" The sentence wandered straight away from etiquette, right into honest opinions and hard truths.

_It's that we don't trust him._

Draco swallowed around a scoff as Hermione unleashed a whispered torrent of "Trust me, you can trust him" logic that did nothing to melt away their stubbornness. Before she got too worked up, his hand found the small of her back and his fingers dipped into the notches of her spine.

He pressed the ire away, eyes and attention wandering from the useless company in front of him. To his left, he caught two blond heads turning away from the receiving line to include some black-haired chap in conversation.

"...such a constant friend like Mr. Night."

The name piqued at something hazy and evasive in Draco's memory. It dawned on Draco as he looked more closely at the blond man speaking to the Weasleys at such a conspicuous volume that the girl with the man, who faced away from Draco, was Loony Lovegood.

His ears perked up as the conversation continued and his fingers steered Hermione so that she honed in on the action unfolding on the other side of the receiving line.

"He recently had come to stay with us for an extended time."

Draco's eyes flew back to the bloke standing next to the Lovegoods and were startled to find him already staring back. His chocolate eyes were wide, his olive skin pale and stretched tight over an expression of tense apprehension.

Draco's heartbeat slowed at the scene playing out before him, his brain just as sluggish as it attempted to piece together the disjointed picture. A task made ultimately easier and more devastating when the final piece was handed via Mr. Lovegood.

"Luna said it's something to do with his family."

The guy finally dropped his eyes and Draco _knew, _knew with a certainty unlike anything else that he was looking at Theo.

His jaw went slack. He could vaguely feel Hermione trying to get his attention but Lovegood's words were only just penetrating and their significance seared, the fire of fear hot as it prickled the skin of both forearms, of both runes and tattoo.

Urgently, unwittingly Draco moved to stalk directly towards Theo, intent on strangling every bloody answer out of the git, but then a body interrupted his path.

A deep burr then said, "Herm-own-ninny?"

_No bloody fucking way._

Viktor Krum currently stood in front of him with a sentimental look aimed over Draco's right shoulder. He could feel Hermione's presence there so with an air of cool politeness, he pulled her in against his side.

Krum spared Draco the smallest, most dismissive of glances before speaking directly to Hermione. "It's good to see you, Herm-own-ninny. I-" His dark eyes slid to Draco. "I'd hoped I vould see you here. I remembered the ginger's fascination with you."

Hermione blushed so hard that Draco could feel the heat of it on his own skin. Her weight shifted from one foot to the other; Draco tried to anchor her with his fingers in her waist, firm and possibly bruising as he tracked Theo move with the Lovegoods to an unoccupied table.

His longing to stay by Hermione's side warred with a stark need to get to Theo, so much that he couldn't muster up the proper amount of offense- _or outright attention_\- at the Bulgarian's flirting with his girlfriend.

But then, the ass offered his hand.

"It looks like the musicians are about to start playing. Vould you dance the virst song with me?"

Draco slanted his head down just as Hermione turned a questioning gaze up at him.

_You promised me _he bore into her. Contemplative, she looked over Krum's shoulder and her eyes danced around, finally landing on the Lovegoods, proving to Draco for the millionth time that she was indeed the brightest witch around.

Eyes still cast in their direction, she murmured to him, "I'll be right in sight of you."

_Go ahead _her words granted. So he capitulated, brushing his lips along her hair line and replying as he stared hard at Krum, "I'll see you after the dance."

They moved to the edge of a transfigured dance floor and very, _very_, reluctantly Draco turned away to find Theo. He had some answers to be getting, after all.

Loony and Theo were sitting, the father already disappeared from the table. When Draco approached, the two stood as he stopped within a hair's breadth of their bodies. Weary of the all-around pretense, he growled, "You better start fucking talking."

Lovegood stepped slightly in front of Theo, like she could wedge her absurdly bright cheerfulness between their tension.

"Hello Draco," she said a bit too loudly for his comfort.

He nodded shortly. "Loony," and looked over her shoulder, tirade hot on his tongue. Theo cut him off.

"It's Luna."

A short pause followed the multitude of implications tied to that statement and in that brief interlude, Draco could only raise his eyebrows a notch. He dare not mull over what path Theo had to have taken to get from 'batty Ravenclaw' to 'Luna'. It would probably be some fucking twisty maze-like route that would only end up giving him a headache.

Lovegood, or rather Luna, finally broke the silence as she dreamily stated, "I've always loved this song. I think I'll dance." Then she wandered onto the dance floor, strains of music only now beginning to resonate in the enclosed air of the tent, and swayed back and forth.

By herself. Maybe Draco would stick with the nickname Loony.

Now that his eyes were on the dance floor, he scanned the area until he found Hermione rather fucking cozy in Krum's arms. He growled; Theo, having mistaken the sound to be directed at him, finally spoke up.

"Hello to you too, mate." Irreverence coated words already heavy with relief. The detection of those juxtaposed feelings only fanned the fear crawling up Draco's chest.

"Theo."

His foolish friend pressed forward. "How've you been?" He asked and the question snapped the last shred of Draco's patience. Grabbing Theo's forearm, he dragged him to a slightly obscured tent edge, wandlessly casting a Muffliato as they walked.

It had been the only positive outcome of his countless tortures by Voldemort- he forced himself to learn some simple wandless spells, if only to feel tied to his magic in some form.

Regardless, Draco's eyes were still glued to Hermione even as Theo gasped at the unexpected roughness, and it wasn't until Theo gripped back that Draco really looked at the man.

It was a stranger, this exotic-colored bloke with the thick, inky locks and olive tone skin.

It was an imposter, whose frame was too short and too built.

But the eyes were all Theo. Not blue, maybe, but dark. Desolate, much like his pseudonym.

"Do you think," Theo said lowly, as if a Muffliato hadn't been cast, "that you're the only one angry? Desperate for answers? It's been _months_."

Pain rippled across Draco's otherwise closed expression. He had felt each and every day of that separation, of the uncertainty like it was a breath held with no knowing when you'd have fresh air again.

Theo had always been fresh air.

Exhilarating. Draco felt finally able to breathe again now that he was reunited with him but in doing so, he could tell that something wasn't right. He released his grip on his friend and slightly nodded in concession, turning back to the dance floor with fists stuffed in his pockets.

Lucky for him, Theo accepted his concession unconditionally.

"How've you been?" He repeated.

As he watched Hermione, now twirled by the Weasel, Draco reflected on the most succinct way to answer the blatant concern in Theo's tone. They hadn't much time and there was no sense in perpetuating his friend's worry.

He finally replied, "Better," his gaze slanting momentarily to Theo so the brunet could see the sincerity there.

Theo ate up the reassurance, and then tipped his eyes meaningfully to Draco's right arm.

"Luna's been keeping me updated on Granger's entries."

A dozen different intimations danced between the start and end of that sentence but Draco was really only interested in one of them. He ignored Theo's attempt at diversion- it wasn't a story he wished to share _ever _anyway- and pitched his voice curiously.

"So. Luna?"

A gusty sigh escaped Theo which prickled the back of Draco's neck with sparks of Deja vu. He knew that sigh, intimately in fact. It shuddered out of his own mouth a time or two when he first got entangled with Hermione.

_Fucking Salazar, Theo. Your timing is utter shite. _

He was quiet in the wake of Draco's probing, Theo's gaze far and away on the dance floor as he watched the song conclude, the partners change. Hermione sent a little wave toward them as she grabbed Lovegood's hand and twirled her around.

"Yes," Theo answered, resolve and reticence in the word. "Luna."

The girls were laughing now, a mirror view of the two of them standing all stoic and unsociable on the party's edge. Draco watched the girls converse through their smiles, likely catching up the way he and Theo were, and knew they would be heading towards them once the dance ended.

As much as Draco wanted to study Lovegood to discern whatever hidden quality had hooked Theo, he knew there wasn't much time.

He needed answers. And faster than Theo was giving them.

"So what Mr. Lovegood was saying…?" Draco trailed off, throat blocked by 'what if's' and a solid knot of responsibility that he somehow failed to keep Theo safe.

The man's face collapsed with resignation. "It's true," though he didn't elaborate further. The violins were culminating to their final chords and any minute, the girls would meander their way to them and the only real answers Draco had received from Theo were 'yes' and 'it's true' and they weren't fucking good enough.

He seethed. "What the hell, Theo? You forget how to talk?"

Theo stepped in front of Draco and despite being more than a head shorter, he crowded the man's purview.

"What would you like me to say?" Theo clipped, eyes so black Draco feared he wouldn't hit the bottom of them, or the pain so visible there. "That my father finally found a way to consider me valuable? That he pledged me as a replacement to You-Know-Who now that you're no longer on his radar? Because to be fucking honest, Draco, I'd rather forget how to talk than rehash all that shit."

The song ended. Draco murmured the incantation to cancel the Muffliato, the words choked as they came out on a strained exhale. As Hermione and Luna walked towards them and the regret pressed hard on Draco's chest, he physically struggled to verbalize the emotion to Theo.

His best and longest friend. His by all-accounts brother, fucked so cruelly by Fate, born a Nott and then punished for it.

Draco unlocked his jaw.

"I'm so sorry." The words rang true, but insufficient, and Theo heard it all. The man, etched in pain even as he inhabited a different body, only shrugged.

"It's complicated now," _meaning apologies aren't enough and there's a ripple effect for every action._

First Pansy. Now Theo.

Draco couldn't help but think it would have been better if he let Voldemort have him.

oOo

If only a simple apology could mend the fissures in Theo's soul- but he knew now, certain things were irrevocable. As permanent as the tattoo on Draco's left arm… and your father selling you to the Devil was one of those things.

Torn between a persisting resentment and a desire to just acquiesce, Theo stared hard at his best mate's tortured face, so odd in its transparency. He opened his mouth to say something akin to 'it's all right' when he felt a shift in the energy behind him.

It was like the early morning haze that distorts the sky was dissipating, leaving only the clear infinity of dawn.

Theo looked over his shoulder and right into the daybreak gray eyes of Luna.

The joy from the previous dancing had bled out, leaving them clear and concerned when she asked, "Everything all right?"

And suddenly it was. Theo didn't know how, but something in the way she looked at him as if she could see all those fissures and accepted them wholeheartedly, eroded away at the conflicted feelings inside of him. And for now, at least, everything _was_ all right.

He answered Luna's question but looked back at Draco.

"Yeah. Everything is good."

The bespectacled man seemed unconvinced by the words but now that they were joined by company, Theo knew he wouldn't elaborate or attempt to persuade. He instead would fall predictably into an isolated state of self-loathing, a private place Theo was only too familiar with. Granger had snuck around during the exchange to share a quick kiss with her boyfriend, as the four stood in a quiet cluster looking out onto the party.

Many still crowded the dance floor as others picked from a buffet lined up on the opposite side of the tent. As Theo's eyes scanned, he caught sight of Potter talking to some old bat seated at a table near the food. Weasel and Weaselette stood inconspicuously close to the Chosen One, although their attention was honed in on Theo and his lot.

"What's his deal?" He asked Granger, assuming as one of his besties she'd know the meaning behind the sour puss on Ginger's face.

Luna was the one to reply. "He's figuring out who crashed the party."

Three sets of shocked eyes swiveled to her. Luna continued matter-of-factly.

"He's got a brain made for chess. All he has to do is shift a couple pieces and he reveals the heart of the game."

Draco's face scrunched at the analogy but it was Granger's, blanched with comprehension, that held Theo's attention.

"He's not the only one," she whispered, but the revelation was drowned out by the collective intake of air throughout the tent. Bright blue light burst into the center of the space in the shape of a sleek lynx, prowling the empty air with its mouth caught in a roar.

_The Ministry of Magic has fallen. The Minister is dead._

Theo heard the barrage of disapparition cracks as guests fled the scene.

_They are coming._

He watched as the Weasleys crowded nearer to each other, wands already out and pointed. Defending their home, their sanctuary.

_They are coming._

Granger suddenly grasped both Theo's and Luna's hands.

"Stay safe," she urged just as chaos slit the ceiling of the white tent wide open. It draped like a leery smile, the opening a dark starless void. Death Eaters in full regalia appeared on the dance floor, shooting curses at any person standing still.

"Look to the journal!" Hermione screamed before she made a run for Potter on the far side. He was back to back with Weasel, massive Protego keeping them partially safe from wayward spells, and Theo watched them look for their missing link.

Her hair flung out behind her as she pushed through people frozen in fear, calling out to Potter and Ginger. They turned, eyes relieved, attention diverted past the panic and directly onto the part three of their trio; the feeling of relief, however, was only temporary for the pair. Draco ended up reaching Hermione first and disapparated the both of them.

Now that they were gone, Theo's concern naturally shifted to Luna who, in the pandemonium had left his side. His eyes cast around the inside of the tent which was now in shambles; only the brave guests remained, divided in small groups as they took on the crowd of Death Eaters. Spells crackled through the air like fireworks. They sounded in the night like bombs. When he found her, his heart stopped.

She stood by the dance floor as she faced off with a Death Eater. Her wand was in her hand, movements fluid, voice serene as she recast a Protego and subsequently threw an Incarcerous.

The Death Eater, whoever the fuck they were under that mask, easily dodged the spell as they parried Luna's footwork. Several ugly looking purple hexes were spit-fired across the space but Luna was able to deflect them upwards into the remains of the canopy.

On impact, the fabric melted like wax.

His stomach rolled. Luna was fighting a Death Eater while Theo was backed up against a tent flap, stiff with fear and not-a-small amount of awe and she was fighting a _bloody Death Eater. _

Who happened to be relentless. And cruel, and real fucking skilled as they began to poke holes in Luna's shield.

Even from a distance, Theo could see her face glistening with sweat as she struggled to keep moving, to keep safe. Before he knew it, he was pulling his wand from its pocket and moving towards her, his steps quickening when she fell after a particularly strong curse shattered her Protego.

The Death Eater's arm was raised and Luna was vulnerable. Theo could vaguely hear the gleeful intake of breath as they started to yell out "Ah-" but then he was there and she was in his arms and at last, blackness took over.

* * *

**A/N: Only slightly behind schedule... good news is the next chapter is completed and mostly betaed and I have a handle on the chapter after that! I hope you enjoy my rendition of this canon event... and am ever thankful for the continued follows, favorites, reviews.**


	8. The Aftermath

**The Aftermath**

* * *

The minute Hermione's feet hit their bedroom floor in the Tonks' household, she whirled on Draco and shoved him hard.

He staggered, eyes darkening to angry espresso since he still wore spectacles. Their breaths, ragged, swirled around them like a tornado, carrying all of the stress and conflict from the wedding aftermath back with them.

As she caught her breath, Hermione removed the glamours from Draco's person with savage flicks of her wand; she intended to have this argument with her boyfriend looking like himself.

"You shouldn't have done that." Hermione finally uttered. Hurt distorted the syllables even as she turned her pert nose up in righteous indignation at Draco. She wanted to be seething, raging, but her mind was clouded over with that final moment before disapparition- where Ron and Harry looked in her direction, twin expressions of slackened relief at her well-being- and then blackness.

Taken to pacing his side of the room, Draco brushed the comment aside with a flustered slice of his arm.

Full stop. Point irrelevant.

Hermione's blood now boiled.

"I knew it," he vowed as he stalked the same tight circle. "I knew something was going to happen."

The observation crystallized into fear as Hermione absorbed it.

_Harry and Ron. What could have happened to Harry and Ron?_

"How could you know," she pushed past clenched teeth. She felt that if she didn't lock her jaw then she would scream from the hopelessness of not knowing.

_What could have happened to Harry and Ron?_

Draco ceased his pacing to face her. His expression dripped pure Malfoy, sneer in place and eyebrow hitched. Even the malice reentered his voice as he drawled, "Because who the fuck would think it's a good idea to have a bloody wedding and invite all the enemy's targets? It's called logic, Granger."

The undiluted condescension aimed at her propelled Hermione forward until she was shoving Draco into the nearest piece of furniture. Caught off guard, the blond stumbled into the dresser. Amber glass bottles and tiny ceramic figurines rattled upon impact.

He still loomed over Hermione, his face giving away no surprise at her physical aggression, which only angered Hermione further.

How could she be the only one upset over the fact that the Chosen One had been abandoned? Their best and only hope at survival?

How could he just slink back into indifference, like the only thing that mattered was them? She thought he was done with the Malfoy mask, at least with her.

The emotion trembled in her throat, pouring out of her mouth in a yell.

"For once I'm not talking about logic, _Malfoy_."

His eyelashes fluttered just barely. Hermione's voice grew louder, determined to pull some real emotion out of him. "Don't you see? If we don't celebrate or do these things, they've already won."

Draco's hand came like a clamp around the side of her neck. His fingers pressed into the skin there, an imprint of fervency.

"We could have died," he hissed. The words as bruising as his touch.

_Ah. _Hermione's eyes wandered over the expanse of Draco's face up close. Instead of snow-pale skin, color bloomed to life in the arch of his cheeks.

Color of anger. Which Hermione knew was only the glacial surface for Draco. It was probably the same color painted across the broad expanse of her neck and chest, the same mere point of the iceberg of emotion rampaging beneath the surface.

The red color of her anger was also the color of fear, of undiluted panic that she seemed to be the only one obsessing over the well-being of Harry and Ron.

For the moment, Hermione attempted to corral the emotion as she leaned into the pain of his fingers and his words, in hopes that she could soak it up and become distracted by his own burdens..

They could have died. So could have Harry and Ron. Theo. Luna. Anyone at any second in the current climate was vulnerable and Hermione knew _he _knew that- it was the only thing that could push him to fear-fueled rage.

Still… "It's a risk I'm willing to take," she finally answered and he opened his mouth, sneer already in place, but Hermione cut through the pretense with truth and a gentle hand to his cheek.

"And last I thought, it was a risk you were willing to take."

_Just like Harry and Ron. Merlin, can we get to how we are going to save them?_

Draco's jaw clicked shut at her voiced observation. His eyes, thundercloud gray, stared down at her, the emotion there resolute and oh-so-complicated. Hermione felt the way his fingers finally softened on the back of her neck and the subsequent smooth wash of a healing spell on the tender skin there, dissolving the pain.

Draco's magic still tingled even as he broke contact to go sit on the bed. Eyes downcast, his throat struggled around his next words.

"You could have died." And all the emphasis, all the black and blue he just vanished from her neck was infused in the word 'you'.

It hit her but the impact was cushioned. Her persistent anxiety over Harry; over Ron, halted Draco's worry from encapsulating her. They were ships in a sea of misery, a dark sky of disquiet hanging over them, as they sailed utterly alone through the waves of emotion.

Same sea. Silent, solitary suffering.

Hermione stood near the dresser, her frame weighted by futility over how to bridge the gap as the severity of the night rolled through Draco. His shoulders stiffened and the breath from his chest turned shallow, yet Hermione had not a word of solace to offer him when he shot off the bed, all worked up.

"And then what?" He started to shout, the hypothetical trailing somewhere dark, desolate, futile, yet Draco followed it blindly. "What's the point of me risking anything then? It's fucking hopeless. It's-"

Something imploded inside him as he put his fist through the nearest wall. Blood welled between his knuckles, lost optimism dripping red until it ran down the length of his hands.

Sliding forward tentatively, Hermione shoved away the worries about the boys because right now, the one in front of her needed her.

Because in a way he was right- it would seem a bit trifling if she didn't have Draco with her on the other side of this war.

She twirled her wand wrist gently in little arcs, murmuring the healing spell that would seal Draco's cuts. The blood she let stay. Vanishing away the pain on the outside didn't mean it vanished on the inside as well. She owed Draco that.

Hermione studied his profile, ample space left between their bodies, and she admitted, "Yes. It does feel futile at times."

She plucked up her courage and closed the separation between them, boats docked together at port, and her lips found purchase on the round of his shoulder.

"That's why we celebrate weddings," she continued. The words were murmured, mellow, immutable. "That's why we spend time with family, even those we're not on good terms with. That's why-" but she never finished her pep talk because Draco apparently understood what she had to say without her even saying it.

Hands cupped both of Hermione's cheeks as his mouth crushed down on hers. Draco's lips coaxed hers open until he could draw her tongue in, taking the words she didn't get to speak.

That's why _we love._

Draco then thrust the sentiment back, groan vibrating in his chest as she sucked hard on his tongue. Hermione grasped the fabric of his dress robes and pedaled backwards until her legs hit the bed. They kissed and they kissed- lips rough and over-sensitive against each other- and Draco only broke away to take a sharp inhale as he tumbled them forward onto the mattress.

Cradling her between his thighs, Hermione felt his attention wander to the swell of her cheek, then the sensitive rim of her ear. His movements were purposeful, steady as he ran the tip of his tongue along the shell.

Draco whispered promises to the fragile skin there that reverberated down into her soul, the words tumbling out of his mouth tripped up between emotional shudders.

"I'll stay with you.

Promise me-" A kiss, then Draco's hands found purchase in her tousled curls.

"You'll try to stay safe."

Hermione hiccuped on a sob. Their reality couldn't bear promises, even ones formulated around the word 'try'. Draco knew that and yet, he made such vows anyway because it was the best they had.

Afterwards, the pair lay like that for awhile, soaked in each other's sadness and solemnity, until a knock on the door drew them out of their own troubled minds. Draco's quicksilver gaze bore into Hermione's for a moment.

He said quite evenly, "I'll update my mother."

Rolling off of her, he attempted- unsuccessfully- to shake the wrinkles from his robes. He paused at the door and added, "Let Lovegood and Theo know," disappearing before the whole sentence could tumble out.

Hermione pushed herself upright as the full breadth of that observation settled upon her. The aftermath of this first true skirmish of the war had tainted everything, its intention already seeping into every uttered sentence and traded glance.

She felt the weight of resentment in her limbs as she sluggishly inched to get off the bed. As she plodded over to the desk and journal.

The resentment of their current reality swirled with the taint of aftermath, coating Hermione's tongue like bile. Bitter coffee.

She wanted to lash out at the blank page until the feeling was gone.

She poised the quill over paper; an ink blot dripped onto the white sheet once, twice, a third time… mesmerized, Hermione watched the way the black coalesced together and pooled like a crater.

Yet, its existence was immaterial in a sea of white.

She exhaled gustily and the negative energy from the past hour or so escaped with the air.

_Dear, _she wrote below the blot, then stopped. It pained her that at a time where she so desperately needed connection, veracity, she had to continue to play to a pretense. With a bitter flick of the quill, she continued.

_Dear Journal,_

_We made it out of the wedding. Draco disapparated me before I could get to Ron and Harry so I have no idea if they turned out_

A pause, as she considered what word to use-

_okay. Sometimes I wish I could shut off the logical mode in me so I could believe in those ridiculous notions like- don't worry, you would feel it if they're gone. I don't feel anything but fear, though, but I suppose that's the way of it for now._

Hermione placed her fingers under both eyes to stop the tears from falling. Her handwriting was indeed pristine.

_It was good to see you both. Until next time._

oOo

Even after her feet hit solid ground, Luna couldn't divert her attention away from the fact that a Death Eater nearly cast Avada at her.

That, at the time, there hadn't been a shred of fear in her heart.

That, inexplicably, Theo happened to save her.

His arms flexed protectively around her shoulders, as if he was privy to Luna's thoughts. She backed away reluctantly, slightly, to look up at him. The polyjuice mask had melted away, much to her relief, as she caught the full force of his navy gaze.

"Where are we?" She asked, the words gravelly in an emotion-thickened throat. They stuck like stones there as she feared breaking the little bubble of security she was encased in.

Unfortunately for Luna, it was enough to pop Theo's pensive mood as he blinked and then promptly released her. He didn't answer her question. He merely stood in what appeared to be…Luna lit her wand with a muttered "Lumos" to discern that he stood on a cobbled walkway between an unkempt, overgrown lawn that stretched horizon to horizon. Panic returned, an insistent thrum in her chest.

Luna didn't recognize the place as her wand light swept over a rather stately, as well as derelict, two-storied house. She barely recognized Theo who stood frozen and unreachable in front of it, as if miles and not meters separated them.

"You shouldn't have done that." Luna dropped into the quiet, although _that _was a hard thing to pin down with her heart rattling in her chest.

Should he not have saved her life? Whisked her away from danger?

Should he not have brought her somewhere totally foreign when the adrenaline from the tussle still trembled hot through her blood?

Luna couldn't decide. But it was becoming clear that her body already felt drained from the aggressive use of magic, her mind slow now that the aftermath had time to catch up.

While Theo seemed like a bomb ready to explode.

She moved towards him then, calmly, and even that minute change spurred him into motion. His body seemed to shatter some invisible force that had held him still because all of a sudden, tiny treacherous tremors shook his legs.

Vibrated his arms. Fidgeted his fingers. Even his expression wavered from detachment to despair back to this tightly controlled but utterly unconvincing indifference.

Luna tried for gentle with her next words.

"Theo, we have to get back to my father." _Please, sweet Circe, there be a father to get back to. _"He will be looking for me. For us."

Having moved close enough to touch him, she reached out a comforting hand that achieved the complete opposite- Theo jerked backwards, the tremors not abating, until he crossed his arms hard across his middle.

He punctuated with an impatient growl, "I know, I know. Just give me a minute."

Exhales left his mouth as barely-visible plumes of smoke in her dying wand light. Her magical core stretched thin, the lumos finally flicked out. Luna couldn't see much in the barren lawn of this run-down house but she _did _notice how Theo had avoided her eyes ever since they broke apart.

The observation was chased by a singularly more telling, more unbelievable one-

"It bothers you."

She stared into the abyss, at his barely visible form, while the realization stirred something low in her stomach. It was too indistinct to be identified as pleasant or painful. Meanwhile, Theo's head snapped up at her words, finally revealing the undiluted panic in his stare.

"Of course it fucking does! We were attacked at a wedding, at a thoroughly warded location! By Death Eaters! We were attacked and nearly-"

Luna cut him off.

"No," she said rather sternly before his downward spiral hit bottom. She walked forward until all the space was eaten up, until that mesmerizing blue could actually be seen and appreciated. "It bothers you that you turned out to be the exact opposite of your father."

The nervous energy suddenly leached out of Theo, his body slack in the wake of Luna's statement. He stood there with his arms now loose by his sides, pensive and totally preoccupied, while Luna attempted to quell her growing anxiety over the fact that they were still here, in this place.

Instead of home, secure with the knowledge of her father there waiting for them.

Luna bit the inside of her cheek as she considered what to say to snap Theo out of his introspection so they could just leave. He, however, beat her to it

His eyes refocused and they found hers, the expression there taunting, and the question that fell from his mouth dripped disdain.

"Can't you ever just say what you mean?"

The words echoed in the night and each time they slung back toward Luna, her outrage sharpened. Her vulnerability pulsed.

She grasped hold of the outrage. "Can you?" She shot back, as she stalked away from him. She fingered her wand in preparation for disapparation.

To bloody hell if she splinched herself in the process- she couldn't stand to be next to him a moment longer.

Theo knew what she was doing though and so wordlessly took her wand. Without it, Luna's vulnerability could fully fester until it had completely overtaken the outrage; she felt open, exposed, as if a slicing hex split her head to navel.

As if all her weaknesses were etched across her face.

She rushed him then, but Theo had slid the wands deftly up the openings of his dress robe, a murmured sticking charm keeping them in place, so he could entrap Luna as she barreled into his chest.

The force of the impact tumbled the two to the ground. Theo landed on his bottom as Luna awkwardly was splayed across his frame, her hands scraped from the cobblestones as they caught the majority of her weight. She struggled to get off but his hands anchored around her waist and maneuvered her until she was cradled in his lap.

Luna refused to look at him, her profile in full view of his face, as she remained stiff between the cage of his arms.

"Just take me home," she whispered, bleakness carrying the words to Theo's ears.

He shook his head. "No. We need to talk."

Her ire returned. "I want to know that my father is okay!"

His hand shot up and grabbed her chin, a wrist jerk forcing their eyes to connect.

"And I want to know why you feel the need to deliver a revelation every other fucking minute."

Luna attempted to put space between them, to break the hold he had because her skin had flushed hot from Theo's contact and she couldn't help but keep dipping her eyes to his lips.

Those snarky, somber lips.

Luna watched, mesmerized, as they molded around the words he spoke.

"How about I get all revelatory, hm?" His fingers released her chin and now ghosted over the line of her jaw, the shell of her ear, and down her neck- merely hovering just above her skin, coaxing it into goosebumps.

Involuntarily, she shivered then turned her attention to Theo's stare. It followed his hand's trail with intimate intent.

"I was bothered tonight," he murmured. His hand swept to the front of Luna's torso and poised over her thundering heart. "I'm still bothered, if we're being honest, because before now I've been able to avoid the war."

Luna felt like her chest was heaving, that every shaky breath and hastening heartbeat had the intent of pushing her body closer to contact with Theo's hands. She felt like she could achieve anything if she could just achieve that.

"Do you remember when we were back at Hogwarts, I asked if you picked a side?"

She nodded.

"Then you did that annoying thing where you answer with a question and asked me if I've picked one?"

She smiled now and nodded again.

"Well tonight, when I saw that Death Eater shatter your shield and raise his wand, I picked a side."

Just as Luna sucked in a breath, expanding her lungs to painful proportions, Theo's hand came to rest across her chest, his fingers tapping her clavicle.

"I was bothered," he finally admitted into the dark quiet, "over how easy a decision it was to make."

The deep blue of Theo's eyes, only really visible in Luna's imagination now that the lumos was extinguished, bore down on her after his confession. In the black of night there was no way of knowing what emotions swirled in their depths; nevertheless, she wanted to somehow comfort him, to say that it was always the parts of ourselves that come naturally that are the most terrifying but the rhythmic movement of his fingers distracted her.

They tapped, tapped, tapped and Luna's bones absorbed the solace from his skin like it was sunshine eclipsing the worry from her perspective. The same could be said about whatever philosophical train of thought she hoped to convey to him- it was pacified from existence.

A wrinkle pressed smooth.

Once the familiarity reached its limits, Theo nudged Luna to standing with a gruff, "We should get back."

She stood, calmer now but still weak, as Theo came to his feet beside her. The pretentious prat actually magicked his clothing clean, despite it being so dark that he couldn't even see if it was dirty in the first place, before cupping her shoulders.

His wand was back in hand, prepared for disapparition.

Before they were sucked into the void Luna couldn't help but ask, "Will you tell me about this place sometime?"

Theo eyed her, beleaguered.

"Sometime… after you tell me about that seat I've been occupying at your kitchen table."

oOo

_PS- Use your DA coin, if you still have it._

Hermione scripted that latent genius under the journal entry, unbelieving that it took her this length of time to consider using that additional communication. She imagined it helped that she currently fisted her galleon in hand, wishing for it to burn with news from the boys.

Once the entry was complete, she flipped the journal close and stared unseeing at the other paper, more specifically a list, in front of her when she suddenly heard the shouting. Instinctively she grabbed her wand and raced out the bedroom. She took the stairs down to the common areas two at a time, her mind laser-focused, until she rounded the balustrade to find Draco being forcibly held by Ted Tonks.

Before she knew it, Hermione's own wand was being summoned to Andromeda's waiting palm. Draco started shouting again.

"Fucking let go of me!" But Ted remained solid, even as the blond flailed against his body.

Fists connected. Draco's quality dragonhide shoes stomped hard on Ted's instep, but the man was uncompromising.

To Hermione's disbelief, Draco certainly wasn't. He looked deranged to her, eyes blown wide with black fear, his skin so tight with panic that Hermione expected his face to shatter.

"What's going on?" She asked the room as a whole, moving towards Draco in the hopes of capturing his attention. Of soothing his panic.

Two steps and Andromeda was barking out a harsh, "Don't." Hermione paused. Not taking her eyes off Draco, she addressed Andromeda frostily.

"What is going on?"

"We received a patronus from Tonks earlier this evening."

_Bloody hell. _Hermione's eyes fluttered shut, her mind whirling over every implication that statement sprung to life. Andromeda kept talking.

"It informed us of the Death Eater attack at the wedding and requested backup. I readied myself to leave but before I could-" she exhaled here, tiredly, as if the night was weeks long, not hours.

"Narcissa clamped an arm around me and said that she would go as well."

Draco actually whimpered at this. Unable to stand it any longer, Hermione bolted to him; she bent slightly to kiss foreheads with Draco, using her own weight as a bolster for his weary body. Her cheeks grew damp, from his sweat or tears she didn't know.

"She disillusioned herself outside the tent while I went in to help. The Order, by that time, was definitely overrun."

Hermione peered from her peripherals at the witch's straight-back form. It was the posture of a Pureblood.

It was a reminder of her roots, of the murky undercurrents that made up this war. No participant was wholly good or bad, Order or Death Eater. For Hermione, it was a chilling experience to witness Andromeda Black, instead of Mrs. Tonks.

Carefully, Hermione cleared her throat and asked the question that ever thrummed at the forefront of her mind.

"Were Harry and Ron-"

"They weren't there," she interrupted. A kindly one, Hermione thought, to be stopped from finishing that sentence. A relieving one too, for she clung to the assumption that they were able to apparate away when they had the chance.

Draco was heaving, the staccato puffs of air heating her face. He seemed otherwise drained of fight- or else screamed hoarse. With a gentle kiss to his cheek, Hermione turned back fully to Andromeda in order to receive the rest of her story.

"Several Death Eaters took off after being wounded. I ensured that Tonks and Remus were okay before going to look for Cissa. I knew why she came. I also knew by then that Draco wasn't there any longer. When I couldn't find her, I apparated home."

Misery gathered in the fine lines by Andromeda's dark eyes so Hermione took pity on her and connected the dots.

"You found us back here. But Narcissa hadn't returned."

Draco stiffened behind Hermione, the reiteration of their current situation like a new breath of life for his ire. Looming ominously behind her, he addressed Andromeda with a tightly controlled voice.

"And what did you do with that information, Aunt?"

She glared at him silently over Hermione's shoulder.

"NOTHING!" Draco roared and Hermione startled at his vitriol. She turned to stare at him, to try and comfort him, but the wild look in his eyes showed he was past comfort.

He was at deescalation.

The blond vibrated in Ted's hold, a volcano of overwrought emotion just simmering at the surface, and Hermione felt a wash of helplessness suspend the intention of her limbs.

She couldn't reach him, physically or emotionally.

And even if she could, he was zeroed in on lambasting Andromeda with the full force of his fear. The woman in question breathed thinly, as if there wasn't enough patience in the air to deal with her nephew. After an electric stretch of time she said, "I told you why-"

"-you wouldn't go, yes. I know." Draco cut sharply into her placating, a butter knife against her weak logic.

"But I could have gone. And you had no right to hold me."

At the insinuation, Andromeda Black returned. Regal, stiff, she answered.

"I had every right."

Draco suddenly strained against Ted and it was like they were back at the beginning of this destructive, unproductive spiral.

Hermione, jostled back into action, pressed firmly on Draco's shoulder. The spiral needed to stop.

"What if I go?" She tried, and his attention swung to her. As well as his anger.

"Not out of my sight," he forced through clenched teeth but in Hermione's mind the wedding was over, that promise fulfilled.

There was no time to argue that perspective with him, however, if she hoped to actually track down Narcissa. She infused her gaze with apology, dragging it across Draco's fractured expression before turning righteously to Andromeda.

"My wand, please." Hermione stretched out her hand.

The dark-haired woman remained unmoved. A low growl tumbled out of Draco and Hermione felt the menace of it dance up her spine. Resolve now infused in her back, she hardened her gaze and added, "You have no right with me."

Briefly, Hermione caught defeat flicker in Andromeda's gaze. Hermione strode forward, holding eye contact, her hand still open which eventually forced Andromeda to capitulate.

She handed over the wand.

Hermione grasped it gratefully.

Then Draco rasped out, "Granger." She whirled towards him.

"Do you trust me?"

His turbulent gray eyes fell closed on a sigh.

"Yes, Hermione."

Hesitation built up in her chest at the rarely used phrase but ultimately, she was doing this for him.

For his mother… who all of a sudden blinked into existence in the living room.

The air stilled to shock. Draco ended up speaking first, whispering as if the appearance of Narcissa was mere fantasy.

"Mother?" And the woman turned at his voice, slowly, in control, but Hermione could also see color return to her too-pale face.

"Draco." She breathed out, as her eyes devoured his form and her feet ate up the distance between them. Ted had released the blond the moment Narcissa returned; the pair, overcome with emotion, gripped each other at the elbows.

A Pureblood embrace.

Exhaustion swiftly hit Hermione so she excused herself, allowing Draco the quiet, private reunion he desired, and returned back to the bedroom.

Back to her list, and worries.

She tried to allay them with the reminder of Andromeda's observation. She tried to beat them into submission in the back of her mind.

But the worries were much too stubborn- a bit like her if she admitted which she did _not_\- and so they fluttered like anxiety-driven butterflies at the forefront of her mind. In response, she pulled out all of her research materials.

Best case scenario, the worries were drowned out by bigger ones that could actually be productively worked through.

Worse case scenario, she gave herself a panic attack.

Hermione thumbed through the embarrassingly sparse notes on Horcruxes; always they taunted her as the few facts she had been fortunate enough to collect so far served to only raise more questions.

_How is a Horcrux created?_

_Does the creator feel a difference once the soul fracture has been stored?_

_What about if one is destroyed?_

And of course, that led to the most pertinent question of all- _how in Merlin does one actually destroy one?_

After an impressive dip in what was already a miserable mood, and having no new reference material to work through, Hermione placed the Horcrux notes aside and picked up a list.

The one, before the shouting, she hadn't been seeing.

The one with six bloody Horcrux possibilities.

Never mind that Dumbledore could have been entirely wrong in his assumptions. Based on her own albeit limited research, Hermione hardly believed a human soul could actually withstand a mutilation like that six times over. And yet that's exactly the theory the Headmaster held- hence the list.

Tracking down six horcruxes, whatever they were out in the big, wide world, already felt insurmountable.

Hermione's eyes were glued to the bulleted RAB underneath the horcrux locket. The initials were their only solid clue, a starting line as it were, but the night's events had drained her of critical thinking. It would be a task best left for the morning, with tea and-

Just then, the end of her thought entered the bedroom. Draco strode straight to the bed and collapsed on it, his head tilted in her direction where she sat at the desk. Hermione looked over her shoulder to find his eyes beckoning her.

It was late. Night flirted with early morning and now that Hermione decided that she would need Draco's perspective on her research, it was best if she tried to weave sleep amidst her worrying. She dragged her weary body to the bed, stripped to her under things, and then extinguished all but one light with her wand.

Draco rolled into her, still fully clothed and on top of the blankets.

"We'll find them Granger." He threaded the consolation into her curls, achieving nothing but to heighten the anxiety in her heart. Silently, she accioed the DA coin from the desk where she dropped it earlier and clutched it between aching fingers, as the single lit lamp flickered over the metal.

The surface of the galleon remained tortuously blank.

Her throat tightened. Draco nestled his face deeper into her hair until his lips could pepper soothing kisses onto her neck, until the affection dissolved the knot of tension there. Eventually, she succumbed to his ministrations, persistent as they were.

The muscles of her neck relaxed, her hand slackened, as Hermione's eyelids drooped against the fading flickering light. Just as she was about to finally shut out the world, a burst of blue-white light startled her back to wakefulness.

Hermione and Draco shot straight up in bed to stare at the stag poised at the end of the foot board. Knowing intimately whose patronus stood before her, Hermione choked on a relieved sob.

Then Harry's voice rang clear through the room.

_Ron and I are okay. Staying at Padfoot's._

* * *

**A/N: Monstrous chapters, at least for me! The two co-existing plot lines are taking their toll on how many words I get out daily, though, so I am literally just finishing the chapter that comes after this one. I hope you enjoy, especially my new follows and favorites, and am so appreciative of those that take a moment to review. It truly adds to my motivation to sit down and beat the muse into submission :)**


	9. The Places We Call Home

**The Places We call Home**

* * *

The Rook was pitch black when Theo and Luna landed in the yard.

"Daddy!" She yelled out, vaulting up the stairs and into the house with zero fucking regard to safety. Theo's heart climbed in his throat as he trailed her. The house was too close for comfort to the attack in Theo's mind, and it stirred the paranoia of finding the place seemingly unoccupied to begin with.

"Daddy?" Luna called out again. Theo found her whirling around in the still-dark kitchen, as if she could just telekinetically sense her father's presence.

A not-unreasonable belief, given who Luna was, but Theo felt it best to remove barriers when able.

"Lumos Maxima." His wand then burst with white light, illuminating nearly all of the common areas downstairs. Xeno was nowhere in sight and guilt reared like an oppressive shadow; as Luna paced the rooms outside his line of sight, Theo felt crowded by hypotheticals.

_Should I have looked for Xeno?_

_ Did we wait too long at my mother's estate?_

"Daddy!" Her voice, this time, echoed down the stairs.

_Is the house infiltrated?_

Uneasiness spiked his blood, especially with Luna on a different floor from him. She was still weak from the magical sparring and now, unprotected.

Theo moved for the stairs but just as hit foot landed on the first step, a wiry arm locked around his neck, wand pressed to his temple. The sudden choke hold surprised Theo such that he actually dropped his wand and the Lumos went out, no magic to maintain it. Xeno's voice rasped into his ear, near insensible.

"I gave you a chance."

Theo's breath grew shallow as the accusation curled into his ear. He felt trapped between Xeno's expectations and his cursed bloodline. With the limited movement available to him, he tilted his eyes upward and prayed for Luna to appear on the landing platform. She had stopped calling for her father… why?

Were the two collaborating to hand him over? A no-good runaway son-of-a-Death-Eater, perfect bait for the Order?

His eyes closed at the cynical thought. Xeno's wand was unsteady but harsh as it pressed into the side of Theo's head- the hold of an amateur, of a desperate man.

A single move on Theo's part and who knows what bloody spell would rocket out of the man's wand. He wagered it best to stay quiet, still, and meet the condemnation as it came.

When it did, it broke Theo's heart all the same.

"It seems a Nott will always be a Nott," Xeno exhaled shakily. "Now where in Merlin is my Luna?"

Many things happened at once.

A strangled sob of distress echoed down the stairwell. Luna, appearing like some benediction, yelled out to her father. "Dad, no!"

And Theo's eyes shot back open in shock to take in the scene. She was fumbling down the stairs, her skin and hair glowing in the dark as if she was indeed made of the moon, her arm outstretched in supplication.

"I'm right here, Dad," she mollified. "Let Theo go."

Xeno's hold actually tightened with resolve. Theo couldn't see but he imagined the man's eyes ablaze with hysteria as he stared unconvincingly at his daughter.

"He put you in danger. He took you Merlin-knows-where in front of my own eyes, as if he has a right to be whisking you off to places." The man was ranting now, and with every word that fell from his mouth, his wand pressed harder into Theo's hairline. Theo tried to ease to the side in order to relieve the pressure but only landed himself in a deeper choke hold.

As much as he wanted to vanish away, find a new home to haunt, he couldn't help the grudging admiration he felt towards Xeno. Lack-wit turned fierce avenger. Very disgustingly Gryffindor-like.

Also rather unfortunately verbose as he seemed to still be ranting some nonsense to Luna.

"For all we know," he panted, "the Death Eaters found about the wedding because of him."

Most definitely nonsense, which also turned out to be rather hurtful. He attempted to scrounge up some charm; a trait he felt was rather scarce, as he coaxed, "Now Mr. Lovegood, you know I would never-"

"Theo, stop."

Incredibly, Luna's scold cut through the chaos. She glared over Theo's shoulder at her own father and marched down to them until she was level with Theo.

"You have nothing to explain to him. If, father, you took a breath, I would tell you what you want to know." She tilted her chin up. "After you let go of him, of course."

Much like a recalcitrant child, Xeno grumbled as he released Theo and shoved him off to the side. The Lovegoods put their heads together, harsh whispers traded. Theo moved into the kitchen under the pretense of getting a glass of water, when what he truly wanted was space to plot his next move.

Certainly it was a relief to know Luna and Xeno hadn't been collaborating against him but the result was still the same- he couldn't stay here.

Seventeen years under the eye of a disapproving brute did its own kind of damage. After tonight and whatever information Luna divulged, seeing the same look on Xeno's loony face would be enough to make Theo Avada himself.

Water glass still empty in his hand, Theo stared out the window at the dark hills that even from this distance were smudged with smoke. The Weasley wards had been shredded, the damage from tonight tangible to the point that it couldn't be ignored, and Theo managed to exclusively sulk in his dejection at having to leave the only safe place he knew.

A fact he couldn't pity properly before Luna was insisting on his attention. She had called for him over her father's shoulder, still glowing like some unnatural light source. Reluctantly Theo responded with a vague, "hm?"

"You should go upstairs and look at the journal, don't you think?"

Her head tilted gently in the direction of the stairs as a silent nod for privacy. He took the hint since it would serve to know how Draco and Hermione turned out. As he passed the Lovegoods to climb the stairs he could hear Xeno mutter, "This is the last time he'll be allowed up there, _that _is for sure."

Another nail in the coffin.

Ironic it was the one he had agreed with from the start.

Thankful for his long legs, Theo vaulted up the steps and behind the door, finally out of metaphorical room of reproof. In the silence, he took a moment to truly bask in the madness that made up Luna's room. He threw some levitating fire balls around the space and the glow brought all of the girl's quirks to brilliant life.

There were no bookshelves in the room; only precarious piles of the tomes which seconded as places for tea cups, for origami fairies, or collection jars of odds and ends. The cedar chest sat in a corner, a dresser on the opposite end. Theo twisted his head up to glance at the mural which now included 5 people- he had noticed Ginny as a new addition when he came to live all those weeks ago. Nearly the whole ceiling was filled with the smiling faces of her friends, a thought that made Theo weirdly melancholic.

As his head came down, his gaze fell on her bed situated next to the desk. The sheets and blankets he used on his first night here, before he was relegated to the couch, still peeked out from under the bed. Its surface was crowded with its own linens but also paintbrushes, quills, and sealed jars of paint.

He'd miss the sharp, unctuous smell of it.

Back to business, Theo found the journal where Luna always kept it, on the right corner of her desk lined perfectly perpendicular to the wall. Oddly, it was the only thing in the room to have such deliberate placement.

_Then again, _Theo thought, _it may not be that odd at all._

He flipped to the end and the fear that had crept into his chest dissolved once he saw Granger's meticulous handwriting. He could breathe a little easier knowing they were all right… and yet, the entry did lack closure.

And what the fuck did she mean by DA coin?

Theo wasn't given a chance to ponder over it because right then Luna's voice rang clear through the door. "Can you come down, please?"

Her tone betrayed nothing. He stared at the journal longingly, unwilling to let it go, when a cunning and rather traitorous thought popped into his head. Based on the most recent entry, it didn't seem Luna actually _needed_ the journal for communication purposes as whatever-the-fuck this DA coin was could do it for her.

So truly, wouldn't it be only logical for Theo to have the journal? Spread the communication love and all that rot.

Tucking the journal inside the waistband of his trousers, he gave the room one final, fond look before he descended the stairs. Xeno was planted at the foot of them, hands clasped in front with his head bowed. As Theo came down to the final stair with nowhere to go, Xeno's head lifted and the naked look of apology that flooded his gaze slammed into Theo's chest, twin punches of forgiveness and fear.

Xeno spoke with an intimate lull to his voice, as if he were sharing a secret only meant for Theo's ears.

"I was planning on making you suffer." An admission that caused Theo's breath to hitch painfully- though the man didn't let the statement dangle untethered for long. "See, I had known certain details since you came to stay with us all those weeks ago, Mr. Night. As persuasive as my Luna can be, a boy inexplicably housed in her bedroom would not stand without reason."

Theo watched as Xeno's knuckles tightened to white. They were interlocked; a metaphor of restraint which was a trait Theo was struggling with in the wake of Xeno's confession.

All he wanted to do was run. Hide. Lick the inevitable wounds of showing one's vulnerability to another.

But then, he saw the blood return to the man's fingers now flushed red, as they relaxed into open palms. Pleading ones.

"And my Luna, well, she's not a Ravenclaw by accident. She provided me reason… but just enough, you see. Always the edge of the truth."

The brunet choked on a laugh at that. Gentle amusement leaked into Xeno's tone.

"I know, such a foolish father to have trusted- not just her, but you, Mr. Night. So you can imagine," Theo looked up properly now as the words sharpened to serious, "my utter betrayal at coming home to find neither of you here. After an inexplicable attack on heavily warded ground. And the minutes ticked by with no word, no nothing."

The words cracked the air in half. Theo felt like he couldn't breathe. _A beating from Nott Sr would be easier to endure than this._

A beating was quick, the pain ebbing away in the span of minutes. Maybe an hour.

This honesty though, twisted into his gut like a knife; the bleed out would take forever leaving plenty of time for a little self-flagellation; he figured he could use the break.

The silence had gone on disturbingly long to the point that if Theo were thinking clearly, he would have realized it was meant to be a perfect time for apology. But Xeno, seeming to have dismissed that opportunity, chose instead to step right into Theo's face and force those tortured midnight eyes back on his.

"She told me everything," Xeno finally whispered.

He didn't elaborate with some pithy monologue, nor did he emphasize with some ridiculously raised eyebrows.

Only four words telling Theo not much at all, but in some way providing a bolster to his emotional burden. He felt so light in fact that he thought he was about to float away on the absolution, and it was that precise moment Luna reappeared from the murky depths of the house.

"Daddy?" She prompted upon seeing the two men still as statues on the stairs. Her sweet, sing-song voice dissolved the last of the tension as Xeno's gripped Theo's shoulder with unfamiliar warmth.

"Thank you for saving her," he said at last before bidding his daughter goodnight and retreating down the hall. Luna came forward until she inhabited the spot her father just vacated. The house was still dark, the night even later, and all Theo wanted to do was strangle every single secret out of the girl in front of him until he was satisfied.

Adrenaline from the aftermath, however, had leeched his body dry. He felt empty. Light and empty- insubstantial, even.

Then Luna anchored him with an unbelievable question.

"May I see the journal, please?" She asked with the utmost politeness, although Theo detected a thread of anxiety as well run through the words.

An observation more surprising than the fact that she knew he possessed the journal. Sighing, Theo reached behind to pull the journal from his waistband, and then handed it over to Luna who, even in the blackness, radiated cheekiness.

Her iridescent fingers flipped through the pages while she mused, "It's because I know you, Theo," the comment a response to the thoughts in Theo's head.

Despite the lack of illumination, Theo's eyes roved over the shadowed form of Luna's face. "If only I could say the same," he murmured but Luna was already absorbed in the entry. He stayed absorbed in the nearness of her. In the faint gardenia scent that clung to her blonde strands and the sense of peace that chased the aroma into his chest.

After a couple moments, she exhaled an "of course" and then pressed past him and up the stairs. He shivered; he followed. He crossed the threshold and found Luna had the room ablaze. She was placing the journal back in its reserved spot with one hand and reaching for a velvet pouch with the other.

As Theo came to stand next to her, out slid a galleon from the pouch, onto her waiting hand.

"The DA coin." He glanced at her silently, still confused and quite frankly unimpressed; both of which were rectified, as always, by Luna a second later. She put her wand to the coin and etched words bloomed on the metal surface, too small for Theo to discern at full height.

Leaning in, he could just catch the words as they appeared-

_T + L safe. Talk soon._

His heart jumped up to his throat with the succinct joining of their initials, like they were a pair. He couldn't even get past the knot of unnamable emotion in order to ask specifics about the coin's origin so he just straightened and then focused an inquiring look at her.

Luna, of course, would know to what he was referring.

"I think we're both beyond tired," she said, all of a sudden retreating from him. "It's too much information to cover tonight other than my Dad does indeed know everything now and it's all right for you to stay."

Theo's expression was one of disbelief; yet, his current position didn't really allow for a prideful exit. It's not like he had anywhere to go.

Luna, unperturbed by his doubtful silence, merely summoned the linens from under her bed. They thwacked gently into Theo's chest. He left the room, still quiet, still contemplative, still stopping at the bottom of the stairs to look once more at Luna.

She smiled. "Goodnight Theo."

Her door closed.

He let out a breath that was part frustration, but mostly relief.

"Night." He breathed to the house as a whole.

oOo

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Draco exclaimed the minute Hermione finished her spiel on horcruxes. They were holed up in their bedroom yet again, breakfast having been an awkward enough affair, and Hermione knew it was time to get another brain on board the research if she ever intended on finding anything.

She couldn't leave for Grimmauld empty-handed. She could _not. _

Draco, however, seemed less intent on helping with this as he pushed off the desk with a disgusted sigh and started prowling the small room.

It was a habit, Hermione noticed, that blossomed from stress and so she restrained her own impatience to give him a chance to work through his.

"I should have killed Dumbledore when I had the chance!" He spewed maliciously.

Another habit surely, born from stress. Hermione clenched her teeth to keep the venom from rolling out and her molars ground uncomfortably before she unlocked her jaw to refocus them.

"Draco, I need you to think about who could carry those initials. R.A.B. He was a follower of Voldemort which means likely a Pureblood."

He scowled at her from his coiled stance across the room. "How the fuck should I know?"

Hermione snapped. Eyes blazing amber she retorted, "Are you a Pureblood or aren't you?"

Her acidic tone somehow pulled Draco back from his mania; his arms fell to his side, the expression on his angular face following in a similar fashion. He situated himself back against the desk and Hermione breathed deeply.

Once they were both calmer, he murmured, "My mother would know."

It was part statement, part question. Hermione grasped the fullness of her bottom lip as she agonized over what to do with the offer.

On the one hand, Harry would be furious if she revealed Dumbledore's task to anyone else, no matter who it was. Bad enough she included Draco in the research.

On the other hand, Narcissa could very well know those initials…

Harry would be so _furious. _

"What Purebloods have the last name with B?" She finally asked. Draco's right cheek indented but he rattled them off quick enough.

"Burke, Bulstrode, Black."

Hermione jotted them down. "Did all those families support Voldemort?"

Draco's head swiveled slowly to where Hermione sat, his blond hair obscuring half of his face and yet not dampening the withering glance he threw at her. The disdain melted quickly though to caution, to poorly concealed concern. He asked, the words trailing out like they were reluctant to be voiced- "What is your plan after you complete the research, Granger?"

Hermione tapped her pen, ignoring the increasingly relevant rock and a hard place that she was wedged between. She thought when Draco defected, her loyalties wouldn't have been quite so divided anymore.

But broody, unforgiving Harry was making that difficult. So was Mr. possessive self-preservationist. The man in question prompted softly, "Hermione?"

She only tapped her pen harder, as if the staccato beats against the desk was a Morse code solution to all her problems.

Hermione's hand suddenly stopped. If there ever was a solution, tea would likely preface it.

"Let's go have tea, Draco." The plea was shrill on her tongue as she tidied up her notes, grasped her wand, headed for the door. Draco followed her; then waited as she locked it and proceeded swiftly down the stairs, guilt hot on her heels.

If the tea didn't preface the solution, it would sure as hell delay it at best.

Unfortunate, then, as Hermione exited the second floor that she missed the determined flare in Draco's eyes. Quickly he reversed her locking spell then followed, hoping that he ran into one of the Black sisters sooner rather than later.

Despite what lay ahead, Draco couldn't suppress a smirk when he caught up to Hermione- the girl still didn't realize she was in the middle of a snake den.

oOo

The sun wasn't even halfway through its trek across the sky and it was already too hot in Ottery St. Catchpole. Luna had somehow convinced stuffy Pureblood to go wading in the creek just south of the house. Her father, still a bit sour over the late night revelations, was reluctantly amenable to the plan mostly because the trickling trail of water remained in the ward's borders.

Luna figured it was the best excuse that brought them the furthest from the house.

They needed to speak in private.

After transfiguring her robes into a bathing suit, Luna stuffed her wand into the weave of her braid until it was secure. She slipped off her shoes and plodded into the cool water, turning to look back at Theo. He seemed unenthusiastic as he stood a ways off on the grassy creek bed, arms crossed over his navy Oxford shirt like it was going to disappear against his will.

_Ah. What a wonderful idea._

Luna reached back to grip her braid and muttered, "Accio shirt."

The buttons popped and Theo yelped as the expensive blue fabric flew to her. She clasped it delightedly, taking a discreet sniff of the trademark scent embedded there.

Cedarwood- she had no idea where he got it.

Theo started hollering before she could really appreciate it, though.

"What the hell, Luna? My shirt's ruined now!"

Sighing at his grumpiness, Luna summoned the buttons as well then folded them into one of the cuffs. She waded back to the shore to deposit that meticulous folded garment on the grass and pointedly looked at him.

He grumbled and reached for his wand. Luna turned, concerned about being caught out ogling him. Already his scent was fading too fast from her memory; she did not want to feel compelled to sear visual recollections in its place.

Preoccupying herself with water striders or more formally, the Gerridae, Luna blurted out their origins as she half-listened to Theo splash heavily into the water.

"Did you know that Gerridae are hybrids? Back in the 12th century, wizards wanted to utilize an insect's small stature to maneuver areas discreetly. The hope was to take the intelligence of kelpies and superimpose it so the new species would respond to a wizard's request."

_More likely, command. _Thankfully, Theo cut in before she summarized the insect's entire history.

"Is this what you brought me out here for? Bug lectures and a creek bath?"

Luna choked on a laugh, shaking her head at his authentic disgruntlement. Feeling sufficiently distracted from Theo's sleek physique, she started the actual conversation she brought him out to the creek to have.

"I went to my father early the morning after your first night with us. As myopic as he can be with the Quibbler, I knew he would notice you sooner or later. So I started by telling him your real name"

Luna felt the way Theo stopped just behind her, still invisible. She burned with contradicting desires to turn around and face him or just bend down lower into her inspection of the insects.

Ravenclaw that she saw, she chose the latter.

"He must have been thrilled," Theo said with that sardonic twist. She smiled.

"More like astonished. I told him your name didn't stand for anything more than a prison cell, which is basically how your father planned to use it."

The air became still after that matter-of-fact statement. Luna finally turned, catching the conflicted look twist Theo's features as he stood ankle-deep in water and likely, philosophical quandaries. He seemed supremely uncomfortable- Luna couldn't tell whether it was over being in casual wear, barefoot, in a creek, or over a truth that both she and her father knew for weeks now.

Eventually he eked out with force nonchalance, "I don't think it's a prison I've escaped yet."

Her tongue pressed thoughtfully into the hollow of her cheek. "We've talked about this, Theo. Names don't have any power unless you give it to them."

"Tell that to You-Know-Who," he responded sourly.

A wide smile broke across Luna's face. "Precisely." She splashed him good-naturedly, earning a scowl which only tempted her to splash again. Instead, she picked up where she left off.

"So, my father was obviously hesitant about housing a Nott- even one as charming as you-" she added teasingly, "but I said you'd be denied your education if you were sent back home since there's no way they'd let you attend in the Fall. That was enough to convince him."

The sun was a bright-white ball in a cloudless sky and much too intense on Luna's pale complexion so she proceeded to descend fully into the water, sitting on the worn-smooth riverbed rocks. The water now drifted pleasantly over her legs like a cooling balm.

She heard Theo huff before saying, "And then?"

Her gaze fixated on the little eddies swirling around her wrists.

"And then that wasn't enough reason. He needed all of it." She paused, wondering if there was a way she could be sucked into the whirlpools before a blush spread through her cheeks. As much as she respected vulnerability, Luna couldn't help but balk at Theo knowing _all of it _as well.

All of a sudden movement drew her gaze; Theo was settling next to her in the creek, splashing water over his own extremities before he lined up their bodies a hairsbreadth apart. Luna thought their pointer fingers might actually be touching and it seemed inevitable, now, as red-hot anticipation flushed her body.

"The sun is already burning you," Theo observed, inaccurately she might add. He brought his hands to her cheeks, palms wide as they cupped under her chin. Rivulets of water dripped off his hands to slide down her neck but she only burned hotter.

Luna's eyes could look anywhere but his, afraid of what might be buried in the navy depths.

Playfulness. Innocence. The exact opposite of what she felt.

So, marshalling her discipline, Luna gracefully detached from Theo's attention and stood back up.

"I got word from Hermione on the DA coin," she said in an attempt to move forward past the strange tension in her gut. "Then I thought, why didn't we just use Patronuses?"

Theo stood and Luna finally felt stable enough to look at him, to catch the curiosity that lifted his eyebrows.

"You lot know how to cast Patrnouses?" Disbelief, and a little awe, filled his voice. Unsheathing her wand, Luna recalled the complicated cocktail of emotions she felt last night after her father agreed to let Theo stay. It swelled like hot air, like painful satisfaction in her chest as she shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"

Her hare burst from her wand in a flurry of hops, surrounding the pair in a wash of blue light. Theo's stare followed it, mesmerized.

"Harry taught us in my fourth year, when Umbridge was teaching," she explained and brought the hare to heel in front of them. Its silhouette remained strong as the all-around joy of being with Theo flowed out of her. His mouth simply opened and closed.

Luna shifted a step closer to Theo and took a deep breath. Her hare's ears twitched as she suggested, "I could try and teach you. If you want."

Theo swept his stare to Luna and the intensity that vibrated in the blue-black orbs bore right into the center of her. Her hare puttered out, she was sucked in.

"Oh," he breathed, "I want."

_Me too. _The confession whipped wildly through her bloodstream, making it difficult to breathe, although her mind stuck on the likelihood that Theo's words had an entirely different implication. Innocent. Educational, maybe. Her want was decidedly _not._

With an enormous amount of effort, Luna restarted her breathing and wordlessly summoned Theo's wand. She handed it over with a slightly trembling hand.

"Then let's begin."

oOo

Hermione's heart skipped as she and Draco returned to the bedroom after tea. They had sat in fraught silence over the interlude; her boyfriend's restless energy showed in the constant contraction of his neck muscles as he obviously attempted to suppress a torrent of unsolicited opinions.

Hermione, on the other hand, had felt speechless. The biscuit-eating and tea-sipping were mechanic actions, doled out as if they could mask the downward spiraling of her mind. She had known the answer to Draco's question the moment he asked, since going to Grimmauld in and of itself had never really been a question.

But… Hermione didn't know how to make Draco see that.

So she munched on biscuits that tasted like cardboard in her mouth. Then she drank her tea until only the dregs were left, making her sorely wish for Luna's prophetic abilities to tell her once again that the soggy remains spelled _things will be okay. _To Hermione, they merely spelled the end of procrastination which is how she landed here, frozen in the hallway.

Draco had moved past her, not at all concerned by the invasion of their space.

"Draco…" but he kept moving until he was fully ensconced in the bedroom. She followed at a slower, much more suspicious pace.

The suspicion, she found, was for good reason as she crossed over the threshold and found Andromeda Tonks holding her research notes. The woman did not waste time.

"I know these initials," a statement which had Hermione reeling with simultaneous relief and aggravation. She turned her attention to Draco who stood near his aunt, smug as hell.

"Harry didn't want anyone to know." Hermione said rigidly, guilt swamping her even though it wasn't she who spilled the secret. "Dumbledore said it should be-"

Draco scoffed. "Perhaps if Dumbledore included more than children in his master plan, he'd still be alive."

Andromeda scolded him with a curt hiss of his given name but despite his condescending tone, Hermione couldn't help but believe he had a point. Why leave the fate of the world in the hands of three adolescents when you had the whole of the Order at your beck and call?

Either way, Andromeda knew the plan now; Hermione might as well take whatever information she could get from wiser people than she.

"Whose is it?" She asked.

"My cousin. Regulus Arcturus Black." Hermione's chest thrummed with melancholy and vague recognition.

"Sirius' brother?"

The wrinkles around Andromeda's mouth deepened although her lips never moved.

"Yes."

The brothers' deaths fostered a deep silence where the three stood, cloaked with a sadness not easily shook off. Grief was persistent in that way. And so was war. Hermione wished there was time to memorialize their loss, to properly mourn them, but those actions were impractical at the moment.

Progress in the horcrux hunt was not.

After a few shaky breaths, Hermione thanked Andromeda and motioned discreetly for privacy. The raven-haired woman paused just slightly, questions crowding her dark eyes, before she bowed her head in consent and closed the door on her exit.

_Now comes the difficult part._

Draco took a few tentative steps toward her. Defensiveness was already hardening his features.

"You can be mad," he said sternly, "but now you have your confirmation."

Hermione shook her head, emotion already starting to clog her throat, keeping the reality from surfacing. She choked out with force, "Draco," and he stopped moving. His eyes, quicksilver and wavering, roved over her face, trying to interpret the distress in her voice.

She charged along.

"The boys are at the Black family seat."

"Grimmauld," he interjected speculatively, like a puzzle piece finding the last slot. She swallowed, and then nodded.

"The horcrux could be right under their noses. It's time for me to go to them."

They stared at one another until Hermione couldn't take the weight of silence any longer. She paced to the desk, cataloging her visible possessions, before stuffing them in the beaded bag. When everything was set and Draco still said nothing, she turned with hollow platitude waiting on her tongue.

Reluctant farewell in her heart.

But what she found had the words drying up- Draco with wand in one hand and small pack in the other. Baffled, Hermione drifted towards him.

"You can't leave," she said, although the words lilted questioningly. Surely he didn't think…

"Why not?" He retorted. A curious blend of Draco and Malfoy rippled over his face. Hermione noted though that he was mostly just stiff with determination.

"It's not safe for you."

_You could die. You know this. _

"If it's safe for you, it's safe for me."

_I won't leave you. You know __this._

Hermione wavered as she came close enough to grasp his forearms, to feel both sets of ridges there. One side a warning, pressing her to stop Draco immediately. The other simply hope. She so desperately wanted to give into it and the self-assuredness that was rolling off his body in waves but Harry could hardly stand her at the moment- Draco's presence by her side would only have the stubborn Gryffindor digging in his heels.

Gently, Draco cupped her cheek to lift her gaze to his.

"You could use the extra perspective on the hunt," he reasoned as his thumb stroke hypnotically smooth over her jawline. "I did, after all, find this clue for you."

A too-familiar smirk tilted his lips. Hermione huffed but leaned into his touch, his stability. She tried one final, albeit weak, counterpoint. "But Harry…"

"Can deal," Draco finished for her, stepping so that their bodies lined up and their clothes rustled against each other. "We can figure everything else out once you realize where I belong."

Hermione smiled with all the love she had for Draco. She was choosing to fight this war so she could save Harry and all the others. So she could save herself and her right to exist in this world. She was also fighting for Draco though. There was no way to deny him.

"Then let's go tell the others. It's time for us to go."

* * *

**A/N: Another big chapter for you lovelies. I would appreciate your thoughts on this juggling act, which is rather new to me. Are the two plot lines unwieldy for you? It obviously suits me since I am a Dramione lover but for those that aren't... is it becoming tedious? I'd love to know as I hammer out the plot points for future chapters! I will not be posting again until Labor Day since I am leaving on vacation this Friday. I do have the next chapter written but would love to have another under my belt before I post. Please be patient and thanks always for your support in either following, favoriting, and reviewing!**


	10. Glass Half full of Hope

**Glass Half full of Hope**

_-fragment of a journal entry_

_ ...We are finally reunited with Ron and Harry. Yes, you read that correctly. I did write "we". Hopefully four brains prove better than three with this research. Hopefully before a riot.-_

Theo barked a laugh over Luna's shoulders as he concluded the journal entry. It had been awhile since he found such perverse elation and he planned on reveling in it as long as the warm feeling tumbled through his blood.

Luna eyed him speculatively. He cocked a challenging eyebrow in return, though he imagined it was difficult to see now that his russet fringe was growing back out. A week ago, Luna absently commented on how much she liked the disheveled look; that in no way, of course, correlated to Theo presently allowing the length.

Clearing his throat he said, "You don't find it funny that the King of Snakes is bunking up with all those lions?"

Her clear, gray eyes didn't waver. "No funnier than a certain snake taking DADA lessons from the resident loony." She snapped the book shut and moved it to the corner of her desk, but Theo blocked her before she could make her exit. He leaned down, chucking her chin up when she refused to look at him.

"What's your problem," he stated, although the words held no bite. With such an extended stay at the Lovegoods, Theo came to learn quite a bit about both residents, one such fact being that Luna wasn't like other girls.

She didn't sulk. Or pout as an attempt to gain attention. She'd always been frightfully efficient with her emotions. It even tended to put Theo's snakiness to shame.

Even her breathing wasn't emotive- where others would shudder with anxiety, Luna's breathing turned preternaturally still. Eventually she whispered into the air.

"They're not safe anymore," and Theo's head throbbed painfully. But honesty was best met with honesty.

"No one is," and their gazes clashed and rolled. "Not until the war is through."

Luna breathed then. Theo had the feeling it was the exact right words she needed to hear. Seemingly soothed, she slid the DA coin from her pocket where it had taken up permanent residence, and used her wand to write a message. Theo read the words upside-down as they came into view on the metal.

_Can we help?_

An answer started appearing before the question even dissipated off the surface of the galleon.

_Too many spoons in the pudding_

Theo's eyebrows lifted at that, wondering what deeper meaning hid behind the turn of phrase. He knew Granger could be fiercely protective of her research, swot that she was, but the immediacy of her response belied outside influences.

Theo could smell Chosen One all over it.

Luna stared a moment longer then pocketed the coin. Whatever opinions she did or did not have remained behind the quirk of her shell-pink lips.

Theo involuntarily backed up a step as a thrum of awareness vibrated through his body, an awareness he had neither business nor space to feel at the moment, yet the distance left room for Luna to cross to the dresser. When she turned her expression was purely clinical. Infuriatingly detached considering the riot of emotions Theo was attempting to tamp down upon.

"Ready to try again?" She asked. Theo scowled at her in an attempt to hide the dread that chased away the sweet, chaotic awareness pooling low in his stomach. After several hours of unsuccessful spell-casting yesterday, Theo was coming to regret ever letting slip that he wanted to learn the Patronus charm.

The more he thought on it- and there wasn't much to do holed up at the Lovegoods other than think- the more he became convinced he had too much bad blood.

He was evil by association. And no one evil could cast that spell.

"Theo?"

He strived to reply, to inject insouciance in an otherwise melancholic subject for him personally but his throat was closing around a shameful surge of hopelessness. Theo bowed his head forward slightly, fringe obscuring his eyes as he fought to get control over his emotions.

If he approached it logically, he could argue with himself that the spell was not required learning and therefore the lessons pointless, the emotions superfluous, that there was no rational reason that he couldn't snap his cool, snarky mask back in place. This argument, however, seemed to drown in the well of futility that ascended in his chest, all the way up to pool in his eyes.

He heard faint movement from the side of the room Luna was on and Theo determinedly blinked the tears away; a moment later, her silver hare hopped into view. It sat on its haunches and peered up at him.

"You're getting bogged down by the wrong emotions," Luna crooned as the silver, pulsing manifest of her happiness stood on its back legs.

"It's not just happiness," she said, too intuitively. Merlin, how he hated her intuition.

She struck anew with that keen voice. "It's also hope." She paused. The hare placed its warm, changeable paws on Theo's shin.

"What do you hope for, Theo?"

It was an asinine question as Theo had learned to stop hoping the day he saw his mother die. But the emotion that buoyed the words, curiosity and an unwavering sort of confidence that Theo must have something to hope for, that nearly had him soaring.

Theo chalked it up to delusion. That was Luna's style.

Nevertheless, he lifted his wand and let the dizzying elation tumble out of him on a breath.

"Expecto Patronum."

A fine, silver mist, similar to the brilliant reflection of chandeliers, seeped out of the Beechwood. He stared, mouth gaping, as it unfurled like a carpet between him and Luna, who was beaming.

"Well done, Theo!" She all but cheered. "An excellent start!"

The emotion now drained of him, the sparkly carpet dissipated into the air, leaving a gaping silence in its wake. Theo stared across the room at Luna. She was now humming contentedly, secret smile tilting her lips as she swayed like a dandelion in the wind; it was an utterly typical scene to behold when it came to the blonde but this time- whether from her coaxing and cheers, his accomplishment, or a mixture of both- Theo badly wanted to kiss her.

To feel his lips tingle under her throat's hum, to melt that irritating smile into something more resembling shock. To chase the remnants of hope still fluttering in his chest with all the possibility that danced in her gray eyes.

He near ached with his want of it, of her.

Then Xeno intervened and a crushing sense of relief and an undeniable stab of pain followed. The man appeared too suddenly, as if a Disillusionment charm had been in place, on the threshold outside of Luna's room.

He studied the space intently, particularly the amount of distance between Luna and Theo's bodies, before his chin dipped with a short nod.

"What are we doing up here?" He said in way of greeting.

Luna answered blandly, as if there wasn't a seismic shift in the energy. "Casting Patronuses."

Xeno's eyes narrowed. "And can he?" He asked with a nod in Theo's direction. The third-person reference was enough to raise Theo's hackles; if he had anywhere else to go, he'd scold Xeno for his incivility but then, beggars couldn't be choosers.

Still, he settled for an eyebrow raise at the man's blatant avoidance of him, at least up until Luna replied in the affirmative. "He's getting there," and Theo's blood unwillingly warmed at the praise.

Was he fucking starved for affection or what?

After a moment of digesting the news, Xeno returned his surprisingly sharp gaze to Theo.

"I could use you in the printing room." Then the man descended the stairs clearly content in the knowledge that Theo wouldn't dare defy him. Which was, of course, true.

Luna waved him along as she stared speculatively at her ceiling mural. Theo scowled but inevitably followed Xeno's path until the two men were holed up together in a cramped office.

As Theo learned early on in the summer, the printing room did not just print. Half the space was dedicated to office furniture, including a desk overflowing with everything from hand-written scraps of parchment to a massive, well-preserved skeleton of a phoenix, the origins of which Lovegood remained mum.

There was a filing cabinet topped with books towering all the way to the ceiling; Theo had tested one afternoon, when he was alone, to confirm that they were indeed magicked to stay in place. Lovegood also had two easels displaying works of art in varying stages of completeness. Theo couldn't help but be impressed by the man's finesse. He also wasn't surprised to learn that Luna inherited her artistic talent from her father.

The printing press for which the room was named, was furiously churning as Theo entered. The smell of ink was so thick in the air that he thought he would choke on it. Xeno had gone to stand by the machine, observing as the Quibbler editions were spit out the end. As Theo moved closer, he also observed and silently appreciated the complex process.

The press in and of itself was a muggle-magical hybrid- something so outrageous that only Xeno could have thought it up. Theo never asked, but he assumed the man had pilfered the machinery from some muggle community, and then toted it back home. Based on Theo's limited understanding, one had to manually stock the paper and ink inside the press but from there it was all magic.

Literally. Xeno had made up some spell that controlled the machine; including a nifty little delivery beacon once the Quibblers were printed. They turned into paper airplanes and delivered themselves to a list of subscribers, a fact that Theo had witnessed since Luna herself subscribed.

She also had a tendency to read the paper back-to-front and upside down.

Theo caught himself before his lips tipped up, which was a good thing as he focused to find Xeno staring at him.

"I expect you to start pulling your own weight," the man started off, his voice surprisingly loud even with the pumping machine. Theo quelled the urge to gulp and nodded stiffly.

_He has a point; _Theo couldn't help but admit and for the second time that day the phrase "beggars can't be choosers" flitted through his mind. So he nodded again, more conceding this time.

Xeno's eyes still bore into Theo but admiration ghosted across his features briefly before he continued his lecture. "You will be responsible for managing the printing press in these last weeks before school."

The blond turned sharply efficient as he walked through the location of paper and ink stocks, the proper mechanisms involved in loading said supplies, and then finally the wandwork which would control it all. Theo knew a lot of this information already, having worked beside Xeno prior to this point, but as his father beat into him all his life- diligence pays.

So Theo was respectfully, enthusiastically, diligent of Xeno's request.

Once they squeezed back around to the output area of the press, Theo was able to get a good look at the content Xeno was disseminating. Shocked, Theo clutched a Quibbler before it folded in on itself.

**PROPHET BESMIRCHES BOY-WHO-LIVED, QUIBBLER STANDS WITH THE CHOSEN ONE**

Verbose, but that was the least of the problems Theo could detect. He asked curiously, cautiously, "You're calling out the Prophet?"

The man- and incidentally, the author of nearly all Quibbler content- looked ablaze at Theo.

"No, my boy," and his tone was the closest to resembling the camaraderie they had before the wedding, "I'm calling out the truth."

He made to exit the office, Theo following reluctantly with one struggling Quibbler still clenched in his hand. Now with more space, Xeno could postulate more grandly it seemed.

"The Prophet has been overrun by You-Know-Who sympathizers and cowards unwilling to fight the propaganda. The Light also needs propaganda, Mr. Night," and a thrill traced down Theo's spine at this surname, as Luna appeared behind her legitimately manic father.

Contrasted against calm, unruffled Luna, Xeno's demeanor disturbed him even more.

"The Light needs hope."

And Xeno's words echoed out, crystallizing unpredictably in Theo's blood like the direct, cutting truth they were, sharp enough to shred whatever persisting doubt existed that Theo was evil or untrustworthy. Or a true Nott.

The Lovegoods were staring at him, waiting on a response or reaction, but Theo kept it inside like a secret promise. A beacon that could perhaps guide his actions in the future. He stared back at the two blonds, affording them only a solitary, determined nod.

_So let's give them hope._

_-final days before 1 September_

The final fortnight leading up to school seemed as blurry as a daydream for Theo. He spent his mornings with Luna, sometimes spell-casting, sometimes enjoying the last of the August heat on the grassy hills within the wards. More often than not they were silent in one another's company, especially as September first loomed ever closer.

Theo considered every time he was with her to broach the topic of _what's next _but she always delayed him by doing some "Luna" thing- letting out a sigh of contentment while she sketched secretively in a muggle pad of paper, or unleashing those daybreak gray eyes on his person.

So, wanting to put off hurting her just a little while longer, he always ended up sighing disgustedly to himself and trudging inside for his afternoon responsibilities with the printing press. Xeno would hand him a mock-up of the day's edition and then supervise as Theo loaded paper, as he filled the ink, as he sweat through his pristine Oxfords.

Once the press started after a few muttered spells on Theo's part, the Lovegood patriarch would turn back to his desk to scribble more articles into existence. Occasionally when he was bored manning the machine, Theo would sidle up to Xeno's desk to scan the frantic rants, and to sometimes inject a wry comment or curious inquiry which would ultimately weave its way into the man's writings.

"Good work," Xeno muttered whenever this happened and in that moment, Theo would feel less like a leech.

That, of course, was shot to shite when it came time to order school supplies.

Xeno vetoed the idea of entering Diagon Alley, even under the influence of Polyjuice, which led to Luna and Theo sending orders via owls one afternoon.

"Bloody fucking hell!" He shouted in the rare privacy of Luna's bedroom. A second rejection letter to his request of the withdrawal of funds creased between his fingers. One of the goblins at Gringotts sent the rejection, detailing that one Theodore Nott Jr no longer existed in their records.

His bastard of a father blasted him off the family tree. Yet that wasn't what angered him.

"We told you we can cover the costs of the supplies," Luna chirped. She sat on the bed, comparing their lists from the school and subsequently scribing a master list to work from.

Theo growled, "That's not the point," then he crumpled the letter and threw it in an arc, using his wand to cast an Incendio when the offensive ball was in mid-air.

Scowl carved on his face, Theo looked up from the falling ashes to see Luna looking at him. Her face had the hint of disapproval in the press of her lips but another emotion dominated...it looked like _fear. Fear of what?_

She interrupted his tumultuous thoughts with, "Then what is the point?"

Theo's face shuttered at the directness of her question since it was not one he intended on answering. Too much value, too much vulnerability lie in the answer.

Instantly, a diversion came to mind, a question of his own long overdue. Theo felt his face relax slightly as he backed up towards the dresser, hitching his hip nonchalantly against its side.

"What happens next, Luna?" Her eyes hadn't moved from his face but the fear he couldn't quite comprehend earlier now blazed in her expression. It was all at once alluring and terrifying to see someone wear fear so openly.

He suppressed that for now, since Luna still hadn't leaped to answer the question. Theo clarified, "When we're on that train in a week, what happens next?"

Carefully she put the lists aside, straightening her posture until she was seated properly on the bed. Any hint of comfort or contentment in Theo's company vanished as she placed her hands on her knees.

"Say what you mean, Theo."

He balked at her straight-forwardness. The tension of the room leached out any excuse of pretense; Theo found himself straightening too from his leisurely sprawl against the dresser and walking towards Luna.

"This has been a delusion," he whispered, though the words were firm, "a daydream that we are about to wake up from."

Luna didn't tip her gaze upward as Theo came to a stop in front of her, his legs kissing the slice of air before her knees. She was completely still whereas he couldn't help but near vibrate with some emotion he rather not go on defining at the moment. Nevertheless, she needed to hear this.

"It won't be safe for us to engage once we're back in public."

_And your safety is the utmost importance, _Theo wanted to say, but who was he to make such declarations? As of September 1st, it would be best if Luna saw him for what he was- a complication.

Her voice pierced the silence. "Who said anything about safe?"

Theo's face spasmed and he was bloody glad that she couldn't see it do so. It was frustrating enough that she brought up the conversation they had weeks ago, where Theo himself was the one to spout the reality of no one being safe in a war.

He refused to be deterred, though. He grasped her shoulders and dipped down to catch her gaze. She looked back, all steel-gray resolve, until an unexpected twitch sent her hand to her trouser pocket, Theo's grip slowing her process.

He refused to be deterred.

"Luna," he attempted, drawing upon his rather weak inner menace, but he was interrupted yet again. Luna held the DA coin high enough for both of them to read.

_ Check the journal_

Reluctantly Theo let go, then backed up enough so Luna could snag the journal from her desk. She flipped to the most recent entry, air once again shuddering out of her in excited breaths.

Theo recognized the gesture. The arrival of new knowledge, especially when it pertained to Draco and Granger, always set his heart to racing.

_Dear Journal,_

_ Riots have been averted for now, thank Merlin, but only because we've been developing a plan. It will not be easy and it certainly will not be safe._

Theo could almost feel the sigh rising like a breath of warm air from the page with Granger's next words.

_But it will be necessary. And at the very least, it's a start. It took a while for me to convince the snake to shed its self-preservation instincts although it is not wrong for clinging to such defenses. And with that, I urge you to bid us good luck,_

_ We're going to need it.-_

The singular moment of joy Theo felt when he read about Draco being, well Draco, evaporated as his eyes fell on the final five words.

He looked to Luna to gauge her reaction, firstly, but also to resume their previous conversation; however the profound and smug smile curling the blonde's lips stopped the breath in his throat.

He was choking. He was floating.

"As I stated, who said anything about safe?"

He was going to kill her.

* * *

**A/N: Labor of love, people. My summer has officially ended and I did not get nearly as far along in this story as I hoped to. Doesn't help that new WIPs keep cropping up lol Please enjoy this entirely Nottgood chapter and send some encouragement my way as I try to bang out CH 11 in time for the bi-weekly update!**

**School and a Ministry raid loom ahead...**


	11. Mayhem and Morning Train Rides

**Mayhem and Morning Train Rides**

_-1st September_

"So, let's go over the plan a final time."

Draco stared stonily at Hermione after her pronouncement. Not even the mug of coffee warming his hands could improve his current mood; dawn hadn't even broken as evidenced by the black curtain of night through Grimmauld's windows and yet here Draco sat.

With the Dimwit Duo.

When he'd much rather be tangled with Hermione in their bedcovers, asleep until well after sunrise. It seemed, though, that Draco would be deprived such simple pleasures for the foreseeable future, at least for as long as he was forced to cohabitate with Potter's broody arse.

"We know the plan, Hermione," the arse muttered from his seat at the head of the table. A cup of untouched tea was left to cool in front of Potter's clenched hands. At every meal since Hermione and Draco arrived, the prat chose to sit as far away as possible from them, like the self-imposed distance would hurt someone's feelings.

Draco looked back to Hermione, watching her face pinch with tension. _Well, _he couldn't help but revise, _someone's feelings were hurt. _There was no time for consolation, however.

The plan was about to become action.

Hermione pulled a fortifying breath, and then launched into her review as if Potter hadn't spoken. _That's the ticket, love. It's exactly how I try to tolerate him._

"Thanks to Kreacher, we know that Regulus once possessed the locket and had it hidden here." Her voice turned bitter as she reflected on current events. "Thanks to _Mundungus, _it's been given to the worse possible target."

Everyone's eyes cooperatively turned down to the Prophet sitting on the table. Dolores Umbridge's toady face was plastered across the front page with her fat neck displaying Slytherin's locket.

A well of shame rose in Draco for having ever followed the bitch but he dammed the flow of emotion behind an Occlumency wall, a skill he's been forced to work on over the long, long weeks with Potter and Weasel.

The only thought he briefly acknowledged was if there were no time for consolation, there certainly was no bloody time for shame.

"Thankfully, we know how to find her-"

Potter, the uncultured swine, cut in with a sarcastic slice. "Yes, yes. The Ministry. We _know._"

Draco thought about hexing Potter's mouth off. Instead, he met brashness with cool logic.

"And do you know how unbelievably large said Ministry is, Potter? Do you know the sheer number of witches and wizards filtering through its chambers every day who, by the way, have been brainwashed to think you the enemy?"

Draco reflected for a moment on the impressive idiocy of the Prophet, pandering to You-Know-Who's puppets by publishing such ridiculous propaganda. Thing is, though, everyone in Grimmauld who has scouted Ministry entrances has seen the way people have voraciously consumed the articles.

Anything was better than the cold, hard truth.

Potter need to suffer a dose of it, all the same.

"It seems like you don't know much," Draco sneered but the argument bubbling on the raven-haired boy's lips was squelched by Granger.

"We will enter the Ministry," she cut in decisively, knife-sharp and shedding all further pettiness, "under the guise of Polyjuice. It will give us one hour and one hour only to search for the locket. If we are unsuccessful, we fall back and try again later."

Weasley and Potter stirred at this whereas Draco felt the ire in his blood cool. It had taken hours to convince Hermione of the advantages to necessary retreat, hours of rationalizing, debating, full out yelling behind a swath of silencing spells but he was ultimately victorious.

They would retreat after an hour, no negotiations. Draco watched as the sentiment blazed amber in Granger's stare, pinning the other boys in their seats.

Draco grinned.

Granger's breath seemed to then shudder from her, as if she carried an immense weight. It drove Draco up out of his seat. When their hands connected, her touch oozed gratitude and his pulsed stubbornness until Granger's posture was infused with iron.

For what felt like the millionth time since they had come to stay at Grimmauld, Draco and Granger seemed distinctly divided from the other twats. It wasn't a separation that the sole Snake seemed to mourn but he knew it wore on Hermione's patience.

If he was feeling generous, as he threw a look in Weasley's direction, Draco would at least credit the ginger with playing Peacemaker- but like all other superfluous emotions, generosity had been left to rot at his Aunt's house.

It's not something the four of them needed either. What they fucking needed was common sense. And common sense commanded a united front if they were going to pull off this suicidal mission.

He turned his attention away from Granger again and stared the Weasel down. Whatever hardened his gray eyes was enough to stir him to action.

"We got it, 'Mione," Weasley said, reassurance softening the words. "Let's do this, yeah?"

_Before we lose the nerve, _Draco thought. He wasn't the only snark with a tail-end comment, however.

Potter pushed off from the table muttering, "Before we change our minds."

Hermione lightly snorted in what Draco could only decode as agreement, but his witch retained a quicksilver poise as she summoned the polyjuice potions to four waiting hands.

"Cheers," she said wryly, then downed it in one go.

oOo

The atmosphere was tense as Luna, Theo, and her father prepared to leave for London. Although she and Theo had packed pretty much the moment their supplies had arrived via owl, other things remained unpacked, remained unsaid, and time had pretty much run out.

Clasping her final cup of her father's gurdyroot tea in hand, Luna soaked up the warmth of the beverage without taking a single sip. She wished that if she remained completely still, time would stop and Luna would get a chance for all of the things she didn't do this summer.

Potion-making and visiting friends, research for Hermione.

Confessing her feelings for Theo.

Confessing sounded a lot like kissing… Luna thought maybe she meant that instead.

Her cheeks warmed, even as the cup of tea had long cooled. They flamed even redder as Theo appeared from the front hall. He stared at her, his face having become inscrutable in the last days of his stay at the Rook, and Luna hated it like nothing she'd ever hated in her life.

Where once he was a puzzle itching to be solved, a book longing for the papers to be turned- now, he closed off completely.

A vault which would not cough up the key.

Luna heard the cup in her hand start to rattle so she placed it carefully on the kitchen table. Theo intimated, "Things are shrunk. We're about ready to go," and then turned away without waiting for a response.

Not that it mattered- all of Luna's unsaid words sat in a lump of regret at the bottom of her throat.

And it was clear that time had really run out.

_-Platform Nine and Three Quarters_

The moment the trio crossed over the magical border at King's Cross, Theo's gaze slid right over Luna as he turned a politic smile on her father.

"Thank you, sir, for everything this summer." The brunet put out his hand, which Xeno shook after a moment of study. "I could never repay you."

Theo, looking satisfied that those words served as goodbye was caught when Luna's father did not release his grip on the boy's hand. Their knuckles were nearly white, lined in red, as Xeno replied.

"You could look after my Luna, as repayment Mr. Night. I imagine Hogwarts isn't as safe as it used to be."

Luna smothered a smile that dared to rise from her father's verbal manipulations. Theo seemed less amused even while he refused still to look at her.

"Of course. Sir." The brunet eventually said, all formality. He strode off after a moment of vacillating; his hands clenched behind his back while his school things dutifully levitated in his wake. Luna watched him mount the train. Her mind, though, was far and away as it clung to that breath of hesitation from Theo. She contented herself in the belief that the fact he had any hesitation of all meant there was hope for Luna.

Hope of what, she didn't dare define at the moment, as the train's whistle let out an ear-splitting screech and she was forced to blow a hasty kiss at her father in her sprint to the train's carriages. It slowly built up steam, starting to chug along the track. Luna clung to an outside handle as they pulled away from the station so she could give a final wave to her father.

For the first time in forever, it felt like an actual goodbye.

Her mind warped under the thought, like a tree bough giving way to unforeseen weight, and the strange yet familiar sensation of a Vision rippled inwards from the edges.

Luna closed her eyes to focus. The wind whipped past her exposed skin like needles but she gripped the handle more firmly as the first hazy images appeared in her mind.

They were of her father… alone, bedraggled…Luna thought she could make out the accumulation of snow on the kitchen windowsill...but then she was yanked solidly away from the wind and the confusing vision of her father and into the present where Ginny stood.

Her face was pale, her eyes wide, as she frantically shook Luna with the hand still clamped around her right arm.

"What in the bloody hell were you thinking?" Ginny hissed before pulling Luna along the carriage aisle. "Did you intend to jump?" A Ginny-level amount of incredulity cut through the question and it was _that _which soothed Luna like nothing else.

As Luna's lips spread with a dreamy smile, Ginny turned around to catch Luna's response and saw that instead. Blue eyes met gray, dragged down to see the smile, and Ginny muttered unintelligibly as she opened the door to a compartment. Neville sat inside and if Luna were being honest, summer had been kind to him.

He finally had a proper growth spurt if the lithe legs he had crossed at the ankles were any indication. His head was bent at the neck as he read a book, his straight chocolate-brown hair cut close to the scalp.

_Is that a trend going around for all these boys? Someone should tell them it's not appealing. _As Ginny passed Neville, she rapped him hard on the knee. He yelped and looked up, revealing a blue and gray tweed sweater vest.

Luna's smile deepened at the sight.

"Oh hello there, Luna. Where have you been?" Neville offered a closed-lip smile and moved his legs so Luna could sit next to Ginny. She didn't answer so Ginny did for her.

"Contemplating a suicide jump," the red-head replied a bit tartly. "She was hanging outside of the train." Ginny rolled her eyes whereas Neville took on a look of contemplative surprise.

Luna liked the look on him. He seemed grown-up.

"How's your summer been, Neville?"

Placing his thumb in between the pages of his book, the boy-turned-man looked briefly at the compartment door, prompting Ginny to throw up a Muffliato. He then responded, "Busy. Gran brought someone in to train me in offensive and defensive magic."

"Lucky you." Ginny said. "I had to virtually blackmail Mum into even letting me back at school. She figures we won't be on the front line, so to speak, while there."

Luna watched as Ginny viciously pouted at the thought, one that the blonde felt was over exaggerated. She couldn't help but believe that her father was correct and that Hogwarts wouldn't be as safe as it was in the past. For a moment, Luna wondered what Ginny's blackmail was if Hogwarts was the safer option.

Then Neville cut her train of thought.

"What about you, Luna? How was your summer?" She looked across the space to Neville, taking in his open face. His trustworthy face.

A heavy ache of longing cut off the breath in her throat and her eyes began to burn. Merlin did she miss Theo's enigmatic nature. Trading honesty with honesty was not all that it was cracked up to be.

So she sliced that honesty until it was jigsaw pieces designed to never quite fit together.

"Quiet actually." _The second half anyway._

Ginny eyed her suspiciously as her mouth opened, likely to call her out. Luna beat her to it. "We went to the Weasley wedding," the comment explanation enough as Neville's eyes widened. Forgetting the Muffliato, he leaned forward to whisper.

"How'd you do?"

_Wonderful. Terrible. _"All right." She smiled. The memory was too thick to talk through. However Ginny seemed unable to let it lie.

"Why was Nott there with you?"

Neville startled at the name, pulling back to a straightened position on his seat, and two sets of eyes bore curious holes into the top of Luna's bowed head. With the tips of her fingers, she twined a curl and attempted to pick just the right jigsaw piece to suit the question- because to be honest, Theo wasn't there to speak for himself.

To be honest, she was afraid of what'd she reveal if she did.

Luna raised her head and looked at soft, accepting Neville instead of Ginny.

"He's friends with Malfoy. They haven't seen each other since he defected so I gave Nott the chance to go and talk to him."

A quick, little glance from her peripherals and she added, "He's friends with Hermione too, Ginny. They bonded last year."

Ginny merely sniffed. Neville seemed reluctant but after glancing between the pair, he nodded at Luna. The conversation shriveled up at that point and Luna was glad. The summer had taught her to appreciate silence… and she did have that aborted vision to be deciphering as well.

oOo

Theo trailed from one passenger car to the next, head turning lazily to glance into occupied compartments all while his heart urged him to move faster because he needed to find Blaise.

Immediately.

Theo's head, however, maintained dominance over his movements- cart after car of students he strolled past. He chatted with one here or there. He even forced himself into the lavatory although part of him knew there was no way in hell Blaise would ever be caught somewhere so pedestrian.

The train whistle blew. His heart thumped harder, in part because he had yet to see Blaise. Also because he had walked the whole bloody train and hadn't seen Luna either. What an inconvenience it would be if he found them together.

Pressing on, Theo circled back from the lavatory to the compartment that had housed his year of Slytherins for six years. He could only hope that Blaise was so uncouth as to show up late.

He was exactly that.

A half frustrated, half weary sign shuddered past Theo's lips once his eyes landed on Blaise behind the glass. His dark head was bent low over a book so Theo used the distraction to slide into the compartment, magically silenced and disillusioned. For a few inconspicuous moments he studied his friend, becoming increasingly worried by what he saw.

Although Blaise seemed to finally grow in fully to his lithe form, the adult body couldn't hide a nagging anxiety. Every couple seconds he would roll his neck along those solid shoulders. Every time he'd fail to relax the cord of muscles running from head to collarbone.

Seeing enough, Theo removed the charms on his person.

Blaise jumped clear out of his seat.

"What in fucking hell!" The dark man cursed roughly as the book he was reading fell to the floor. Theo retrieved it, scanning the title on the spine to find the subject was _Mental Intrusions. _

The color drained from Theo's face as he grasped the book in loose, trembling fingers.

Blaise stared at him, nowhere near composed. "Theo," he growled, "I said what in the fucking hell."

Theo felt his eyes round with caution. Blue connected with almost-black across the small space as Blaise's eyes had dilated wildly.

"Why are you reading this?" Theo shook the book, itching to tear out the pages. To vanish the words off the bloody parchment. To make any effort at erasing his current reality that had so unkindly slapped him in the face.

Blaise was reading about mental intrusion and Theo had no fucking clue what kind could be bothering Blaise. His only real certainty is that he was most definitely at fault for the suffering.

_Did the Obliviation go wrong? Had he been tracked down and tortured with Legilimency by Death Eaters?_

Theo thought of Bellatrix and the guilt squeeze the remaining color right out of him. His eyes ate up the man in front of him, looking for signs of an Imperius, but Blaise's eyes had already narrowed in suspicion.

Then doubt...before rounding to full circle and wavering with unfiltered concern.

Blaise's words came out, thready and low and full of betrayal.

"What in the fucking hell."

Theo slumped into the empty seat. His eyes closed a moment as he tried to marshal the right words, in the correct order. Eyes opening, he caught the look of utter desolation on his mate's face and knew instantly there were no right words, no correct order.

Theo eased into the question. "What do you remember?"

Slowly Blaise found his seat opposite him, sitting and then leaned in real close. "That's the problem," he uttered. He clenched and unclenched his fists, as if the motion would keep him from clocking Theo in the face.

Blaise couldn't know it but Theo appreciated the effort. And he hoped to repay it.

"I'm -" Theo started, looking into the dark suspicious stare of his friend. The apology dried off his tongue. He swallowed.

"-going to fix it. Yeah?" Theo took a moment to thumb through the section Blaise had been reading in the book and, once he had a general sense of the strategy, set the book aside. Theo connected stares with wary, espresso irises and murmured, "Close your eyes. Picture your home as if you were looking out the front door."

Blaise seemed to concede as his eyes fell closed, as his breathing deepened. Theo continued.

"Place me in the vision. What do I look like?"

Initially, Blaise snorted impatiently even as his neck rolled along tense shoulders.

"Like a prat," Blaise retorted. Theo remained silent, patient.

"You're…" the dark-skinned man sighed, "...hurt? I think I see blood."

Blaise's eyelids fluttered but Theo didn't want to interrupt the momentum so he pressed on. "Now think of your foyer. Black and white tile. Dimly lit in the late afternoon light."

"Black and white and red," his mate muttered now and the memories seemed to build under the skin like shudders trying to break free. "It's red because of you. Because of your leg?" The place between Blaise's eyebrows creased with the question and then, as if the recollection crystallized swiftly in his mind, his whole face blew wide open with pain.

Eyes round and all black, mouth a stretched circle of soundless shock, and Theo caved into his friend with insufficient consolation. He wrapped his arms around the man's neck and pressed his forehead too intimately against Blaise's own; then they sat as the breaths leeched out of their mouths carrying a summer's worth of untold secrets, of lies by omission.

Slowly, after what seemed like miles of British countryside, all the conflict dissipated from their shoulders and their jaws. It became imperative for Theo to divulge everything.

So he did- starting back at his first visit to the Lovegoods and covering the entire clusterfuck of a journey the holidays had turned out to be. Partway through, Blaise leaned back in his seat so he could look at him fully.

Theo tripped up over a few details, omitted some of the more _personal _ones about Luna, and when he finished a steely sort of silence rose up between the Snakes.

It was clear that Blaise was still processing, but Theo had never been especially gifted at holding his tongue so he started to blurt, "I'm so sor-"

Blaise cut clean through the apology. "Don't ever try to fucking protect me again." The words were rough as gravel and utterly clear.

Theo swallowed around a mix of gratitude and shame then murmured, "Noted." The journey was easier to endure after that, pleasant even.

Then the train came to a screeching halt and he knew he spoke too soon.

* * *

**A/N: I really appreciate all of you sticking this out with me. The continued follows and reviews are always such a ray of bright light to help me through this dark tunnel of a story. I clearly got in way over my head! haha So thank you for your continued patience- only a couple days behind on this chapter!**


	12. Choosing A Side

**Choosing a Side**

* * *

_-Grimmauld Place-_

Hermione slammed the front door of old Headquarters shut, panicked breaths rushing out of her as she stared at Harry, Ron, and Draco. The Polyjuice had worn off as they were pushing their way through the Atrium of the Ministry, as employees honed to look for imposters caught the signature Weasley red and the flash of a lightning bolt scar.

The pushing turned quickly to diversion. With the help of the Weasleys' decoy detonators, Hermione then disillusioned them so they could snag the first available floo out of the anti-apparition building. For now, danger had been averted; her breaths started to slow with the acknowledgment of that fact as she locked eyes with the erratic gray of Draco's.

Gratefulness washed over her as she thought back to his quick thinking during the final push- it wasn't just the detonators and disillusionment that saved them; if he didn't seal off the fireplace as they left, one of Umbridge's grunts most certainly would have followed.

Impulsively, Hermione strode over to Draco and pulled him into a fierce hug. A 'thank you' got caught in her throat so she let her hands do the talking as they gripped the blond tresses along his hairline.

When they separated, she turned her attention to the boys who had varying expressions of discomfort. The locket dangled loosely from Harry's left hand. Even from a distance Hermione could feel the dark magic pouring off of it in waves and she suppressed the instinct to flee the room before the ethereal evil wormed its way inside of her.

Harry's gaze hardened when she remained beside Draco, motionless. Then he slid the locket over his neck. "We need to protect it," he explained.

Draco stepped forward, his body canting almost as a shield to Hermione.

"You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm wearing that."

Hermione's eyes fell closed at Draco's tactlessness since it didn't take her sense of sight to know how Harry was going to react.

_No. It would only take ears. _Just once, she wished her boyfriend would use some of that ample self-preservation to dictate how he approached Harry.

"No one asked you, Malfoy," Harry gritted. Hermione opened her eyes to find the emotion building in the vibrant green of his eyes and she braced herself.

"We wouldn't want the locket to turn you more evil than you already are."

_Just once_, she wished her best friend wouldn't be so bloody Gryffindor.

"Harry-" Hermione sighed. The boy in question stepped up to Draco, glaring over his shoulder at her.

"No, Hermione. You don't know how to destroy it yet," and the accusation in his tone grated over Hermione's skin but it had no time to draw blood as Harry continued to rant, "And until you do, it needs to be protected. Do you have any better ideas?"

"A dozen." Draco drawled from his totally contrived unflappable position still in front of her. His arms were crossed in a loose, indomitable manner and although Hermione agreed with the prat's assessment, his complete dismissal of her from the conversation grated as much as Harry's righteousness.

She pinched her boyfriend's hip, hoping to turn his attention and be involved in a conversation that was essentially about her deficiencies, but he remained stubbornly affixed to Harry. "We could ward it. We could find a way to destroy it. I mean, just those two ideas are significantly better than your half-cocked plan."

Unbelievably, Harry's skin took on a dull shade of red. His eyes, hard as gemstones, slid past Draco to Hermione and then when she said nothing, he turned to look at Ron.

The two struggled with a wordless conversation; Ron clearly discomfited by the protracted pause, until Harry threw up his hands and stalked away. It was an inauspicious start after such a victory. Between the stubbornness of the group's unofficial leader and the protectiveness of her boyfriend, Hermione felt it was only uphill from here on out.

oOo

Theo and Blaise stared at one another in the silence of their compartment. The train had sputtered to a stop a few minutes prior with no hint as to the reason why. Theo had braved a peek into the aisle but with all compartment doors shut and the hallway unoccupied, a shiver of unease sent Theo back to his seat.

And there they waited. Blaise, having just regained some normalcy, seemed to physically clamp down on his seat in preparation of whatever was to come. Rigidity tautened every notch of his spine, each tendon in his arm, until he looked carved from ebony. Even his breaths had all but disappeared- Blaise's mouth hung open just a hair as he fixed wide, dark, unblinking eyes on Theo's form.

He imagined he was exuding quite the opposite of Blaise. With every second that passed panic shot up from his chest to fall from his mouth in loud, gulping exhales. It escaped into the soundless void but the release wasn't enough; what was left in Theo's body tumbled along his bloodstream like the screams of a Crucio. The panic was hot, relentless, beating the same rhythm through his heart and up to his brain.

_You said you'd protect Luna._

_ You said you'd protect Luna._

_ You said…_

Theo clenched his eyes shut against the unchanged scene. Several minutes had passed and they were nowhere closer to knowing why the bloody train had stopped in the first place; yet the reminder was unending.

With only one way to stop it.

Before logic could settle in, Theo shot from his seat and exited the compartment, Blaise's questioning shout turned to a whisper behind the snick of the door. He looked up and down the aisle before heading towards Luna's likeliest location, the front section of the train.

Suddenly, his body thrummed with purpose. He felt every step connect with the solid wood of the floor and the steady thump-thump of his feet in the too-silent hallways provided a stability that his mind welcomed. Because when the snake side of him finally reared, it would need a fucking plan.

Theo considered it safe to assume that in the current climate, Death Eaters or some other Dark Lord messenger had boarded the train. The assumption turned his steps leaden; yet as he passed one compartment after another stuffed with tense, scared faces he figured he'd have to face the sons-of-bitches at some point.

Might as well be on his own terms.

Theo pressed forward after that, adding this to his mantra, ignoring the unconvincing ring of it through his head, when he finally came upon a train carriage with action. Theo could hear muffled voices coming from one of the compartments so he crept forward, conjuring a levitating mirror to reveal what was going on inside once he was close enough.

What he saw made his heart drop.

Two adult figures, cloaked in black, crowded the small space between seats in the compartment. Luna sat straight and proud and sandwiched between an equally foolish Longbottom and Weasley.

The masks of the Death Eaters glinted from the sun streaming through the window; Theo vacillated over the fact that he didn't know who were under those masks but when one chose to raise their wand against the three students, all of Theo's hesitation dried up.

He batted his hand through the mirror, dissolving it into the ether; as he cracked open the door to the compartment.

Every single head turned in his direction. Standing there, frozen on the threshold, Theo battled with the helplessness that had leapt up his throat, blocking any forward progress. It was like the Weasley wedding all over again with his worthless snake ass huddled in the corner as crazy Luna fought on.

"If it isn't Nott's delinquent son," one of the masked forms finally crooned and it was that association to his father that finally jumpstarted Theo through his indecision. He stepped in and snapped the compartment door shut behind him, the movements efficient and business-like as if an all-consuming fear hadn't started to roil through his chest.

He flicked his eyes from one Death Eater to the other and determinedly kept Luna from his purview, lest he fall victim to that riotous emotion.

One of the Death Eaters huffed a laugh and responded to his colleague.

"He's not a son anymore from what I hear," then the person waved their wand to dissolve the mask. It was a man behind the mask, with dark hair and dark eyes probably to match his dark soul. The face leered at Theo who remained unimpressed; he found the configurement rather lumpy-looking, as if boils sat at attention yet invisible under the skin.

The other Death Eater followed suit, revealing a face that bore an unfortunate likeness to the male. Only this time, a slump-shouldered, stocky female was under the mask. Her dark eyes were far more calculating as they swept up to take in Theo's measure while he merely arched an eyebrow that likely disappeared into his hairline.

Internally, he was very relieved to note Bellatrix wasn't one of them. Externally, he found himself a bit disgusted. As casually as possible, he gripped his Beechwood in the fingers of his right hand.

"A Nott is a Nott," Theo finally said, inserting himself into the conversation. He took a step forward in hopes of drawing their attention completely away from Luna and the others. "But my legitimacy isn't the real question. Rather, it's why are you wasting time holding up the train?"

"We were ordered to search the train for Harry Potter."

"And I already told these morons," Neville piped up from his seat, "that he isn't here."

Theo's eyes widened at the Gryffindor's newfound boldness but the Death Eaters, unconcerned with disciplining a rebel, honed in on the presumed weak link of the bunch.

They honed in on Luna, sitting with a serene smile now spread across her face.

"Think that's funny, do you?" The female sneered as she crouched down to be face to face with Luna. Mentally, Theo scrambled over a way to distract, divert, _anything _before Luna got sliced to ribbons by the bitch's bared teeth.

"It wasn't a joke." Theo choked on her deadpan tone. Luna's eyes were wide and utterly serious even as the rest of her expression was pleasant, and as Theo looked to the female to find her face blank, he imagined she didn't understand Luna at all.

A blessing for everyone involved. Theo needed that to last.

He forced-heaved a sigh which was enough to draw the duo's eyes. Crossing his arms in front, Theo reached down into the center of him where there had to be an ounce of affected nonchalance, then levied his tone as he said, "I think it's safe to say this compartment is clear." He gulped, then, "Shall we?"

Theo used his wand to wordlessly open the door. The male Death Eater didn't hesitate to leave the whole exchange behind but the female tarried… contemplated… before she slid her cruel eyes across every human in the room, coming level on Theo.

The ghost of a smirk lifted the corner of her lips.

"Oh. We shall," she replied ominously and strode out.

oOo

Luna felt like she was looking down a pinprick tunnel of light as Theo followed the Death Eaters out of the compartment.

As he led the two vile people away from them, away from her.

The pinprick of light constricted then like a heart squeeze because although Theo had _theoretically_\- is that a pun, she wondered- come to their rescue, it was likely only at the urging of her father's request, still fresh in his mind.

She battled back the disappointment at the observation. It's not like they even needed rescuing. Neville and she had it well in hand, considering the lack of intellect the two Death Eaters displayed.

Luna couldn't even claim to have been scared until…

Until Theo arrived, drawing their attention away. Luna's eyes fell shut as the whole encounter washed through her again, and the implications of Theo's actions whirled like eddies trying to bring her down.

"Luna? Are you okay?" Ginny called to her. Luna opened her eyes after shoving away the confusing thoughts. She dealt in truth and the truth was Theo intervened for one reason or another, which she may never know. Maybe she would find him after the feast and tease him for his Gryffindor actions or maybe, she'd just thank him.

Looking at Neville, surprisingly stoic, and then to Ginny's pale demeanor, Luna smiled her reassurance.

"I'm okay."

"What was that?" The other girl muttered into their huddled circle.

It was rather clear to Luna what that was but she obliged Ginny with an answer.

"That was proof that Hogwarts isn't necessarily safe anymore."

Neville snorted and then resumed his reading, letting the exchange go as effortlessly as the male Death Eater.

"Was it ever?"

_-Grimmauld-_

Hermione entered the kitchen around supper time to find Draco pacing like mad around the long, 12 person table. If a formal dining room ever existed in the Ancient and Noble residence, Hermione had never unearthed it; so, the four current occupants of the house maintained the cumbersome piece of furniture.

Partly for the sake of convenience. Partly as an ode to the old Order days… which were very much dead and gone.

Draco collided into her on his next pass, his eyes hungry and wild as they roved over her face. If they weren't careful, Hermione thought, they were going to end up just like those Order Days.

The blond squeezed her arms and grunted. "Potter?"

She tried for a reassuring smile.

"Asleep."

Draco watched her, waited, and the effort to appear like all was well leaked out of Hermione's expression until they were left with straight exhaustion.

She answered the question that quivered in his eyes.

"Yes. The locket is still around his neck."

Hermione left out the rest, how she crept into the bedroom, how she tried to ease the chain off.

How Harry lashed out in his sleep.

Better Draco knew none of that- he was already willing to persecute Harry for the little he did know.

"We are not putting that locket around our necks," he hissed into Hermione's reverie and his grip tightened to painful proportions, like he could keep her from doing it. Fighting against his arms, Hermione broke through his overbearing manner with a hiss of her own.

"You felt the amount of dark magic pouring off that thing. I can't let him bear that alone." The two stared one another down, waiting for the other to flinch, to yield.

Neither made a move. Draco stood utterly serious in his viciousness, and his thunderstruck eyes bore down from his height. Hermione, conversely, relaxed into her incontrovertibility with arms crossed and hair sparking.

She blinked prettily from her small stature and the baiting seemed to work when Draco's statuesque posture cracked.

Silently he unsheathed his wand, called all manner of plates and glassware into the air, and released his frustration with a yell of Reducto. As fast as the dishware shattered, Draco had the millions of pieces frozen in mid-air, a suspended shower of shards.

Hermione stood, breathless. Her arms tightened around her middle, nearly compelled to draw her own wand, but the ringing of Draco's rage and the broken dishware still vibrated in her ears. It was raw and cutting but also much more likely to draw Harry or Ron than hurt Hermione.

She had seen the darkest parts of Draco before and she hadn't turned away then.

The chocolate-brown of her patient eyes found his- she wouldn't turn away now either.

After a moment, once the censure had dissipated, Draco stiffly waved his wand and said, "Reparo, reparo, reparo" over and over, like a prayer. Like the plea for forgiveness it was.

The dishes and glassware settled back into their proper place. Hermione moved past the weary blond to put a kettle on, her own silent acceptance. As the stove poofed to life, she murmured into the quiet.

"We won't wear the necklace."

Draco didn't make a sound but she felt the resounding wave of relief all the same. And so, she repeated the truth from earlier with the faint whistle of steam piercing the concession.

"I still can't let him bear it alone."

From the far corner of the kitchen, a surprising voice added its opinion to the conversation.

"Neither will I." Ron added and then slid out from the threshold. Hermione turned, completely ignoring the screaming kettle, to find her friend stubbornly staring at Draco.

He in turn rolled his eyes. "So bear it, Weasel. What the fuck do I know? It's not like I've ever dealt with dark magic before."

His voice, rife with condescension, was not overly loud and yet it carried on the shrieking steam. Finally, fumbling, Hermione knocked the kettle off the heat. It didn't matter. In the fading echo of its whistle, Draco's stark words rippled out, the truth of them inevitable as a brick wall.

Unsurpassable as one too.

Hermione watched the two men stare each other down, blinded by their own perceptions, and then ever so slowly they turned their heads to her.

Whatever auspicious notions she had at finally having a Horcrux in their possession poofed into the air with every hope that she wouldn't end up in the middle of her friends and boyfriend.

* * *

**A/N: 3000 measly words and all of them fought me. And since it has been that way for the last few chapters, and since my teacher life is all consuming, I am taking a small hiatus. I hope to use NaNoWriMo as a chance to recommit to a more structured writing time, caching words for all of my current WIPs. If we're lucky, I'll come back Dec 1 or thereabouts. If my beta gets her way, I will come back with the new year. I appreciate all of you who click on this slow-building story and treasure all of those that take the minute to follow, favorite, and review. Wish me luck and apologies for the unforeseen break :( **


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